


Cut Me Open

by Angelphoenixwings14



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Murder, Character Development, Classism, Dark, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gore, Hate Crimes, I Don't Even Know, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Kidnapping, Light Bondage, Minor Character Death, Murder, Obsession, Or the way I think, Pet Sociopath, Porn With Plot, Post-Canon, Racism, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Smut, Stockholm Syndrome, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Twisted, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 125,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21788254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelphoenixwings14/pseuds/Angelphoenixwings14
Summary: What happens when good collides with evil?  The day Benoit Blanc unraveled the mystery forged a destiny between the two entwined in it.  It was nothing magical, but both knew they weren't going to escape this spell.*Really, I just can't get these 2 out of my head since I saw the movie.  This is a dark and twisted romance, which I will add tags and updates for as it unravels, but for now I wanted to test the waters to see if anyone might be interested in what's rattling around in my head.There will likely be spoilers for the movie, so don't read if you haven't seen.
Relationships: Marta Cabrera/Ransom Drysdale
Comments: 586
Kudos: 892





	1. The Game Isn't Over

**Author's Note:**

> This is really just a prologue, the impression I had at the end of the movie that had a whole bunch more ideas spurring up. Hope you enjoy.

Marta looked frail standing atop the mansion’s balcony, no better than a meek little mouse overlooking a castle she didn’t understand. Ransom couldn’t help but smile, in disbelief and awe. He knew better now. That meek little mouse was cunning in a way he didn’t understand. Anyone who could outplay him _had_ to be.

He hated her.

The greed-fueled rage he felt in the house when he’d tried to stab her still coursed through his veins as the cops shoved him into the back of their cruiser. He stewed in it for several minutes, until his mouth felt sour with bitterness. His chest twisted, a strange vine of envy growing through his anger. No. Was that envy? It felt different, lustful. _Yearning._

He realized abruptly he loved her, too.

_He said you beat him at Go more than I do. I always thought I was the only one who could beat him at Go._

She’d beaten him, too.

He could almost forgive his grandfather for giving her everything. Still, he _needed_ to take back everything from her, no matter the stakes.

_In for a penny; in for a pound._

~*~

Despite how all the Thrombeys were looking up at her, all of their faces a mixture of confusion, awe, and hatred, it was Ransom’s cold leer Marta couldn’t shake. It chilled her to the bone beneath the blanket she had draped over her shoulders, and was something the coffee she drank seemed unable to warm. 

Her body still had a tremor coursing through it from when he had her pinned to the ground, weight crushing into her. Despite never feeling the pierce, she’d thought for a second she really was dead. 

Now, she felt _alive_ with the strangest sense of horror. Somehow, despite Benoit still being close and the local cops driving Ransom away, she knew this wouldn’t be the last time she saw him. 

_In for an inch; in for a mile._


	2. The Scandal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very minor warning - sorry for the spoiler, but if you have any issues with gagging/chloroform, please don't read.

Ransom knew he was down Shit’s Creek without a paddle. He was smart enough to acknowledge his error (though not aloud). They had evidence on him. A confession, a body, his murder weapon, and witnesses to what he’d tried to do to Marta. The beauty of America though, was that enough money could buy anything, and despite his entire family’s hissy fit, they had plenty. It was why they were all so disgustingly rich; they took, and took, and _took_.

And the thing about money was… it came with a reputation.

It didn’t take long, though he’d expected his father. Blue eyes regarded his mother with muted interest as she stepped inside the little room he was being kept in. He already knew by the steely look on her face that their lawyer had coerced them a bit of privacy. Her deadly leer matched his own, cold and cunning. “Did you know?” she asked levelly. 

“Know what?” Ransom wondered plainly.

“About your father.” He chuckled.

“Come on. You knew he didn’t buy that pretty little Ferrari for you. And I know you didn’t make him sign a prenup because you trust him,” he chided. His eyes glinted delightfully as his mother’s jaw clenched. She slammed her purse down on the metal table he was cuffed to, his comfort in them an obvious sign this wasn’t the first time.

“I can’t buy your way out of this,” she noted, drawing a cigarette up to light it. She cared as little for rules as her son did, when the occasion called for it.

“Sure you can,” he teased dryly, “because your business can’t handle mine _and_ dad’s scandal. One or the other, maybe. We both know dad’s as good as a sacrificial lamb. But me?” His face scrunched a little, crystal blue eyes narrowing imploringly at his mother. “You know who I know. All that dicking around I do at the country clubs with politicians and prestigious business folk. People I’ve encouraged to put money in _your_ pockets… and you know how terrible that might look for your pockets to be lined by my red hands.”

_Silver spoon, silver tongue._

“You’re a goddamn plague, Kid,” Linda sneered, taking one last drag of her smoke before she put it out on the table just shy of his thumb. 

~*~

“¡Ay, Dios mío!” Marta’s eyes widened. Days later, and reporters still had a lot to say about the whole affair. She’d been avoiding it as much as she could, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to her mother’s status in the country. She had the funds and resources to fix that, but she’d _never_ had anything be a public affair before. She didn’t want the world to see this now.

Surprisingly enough, the Thrombeys also weren’t stepping forth with much information at all. They knew the limelight better than most, and this wasn’t a situation they wanted to get tangled up in, not until each and every one of them knew how to spin it… or how to spin _her_. She didn’t want to think it. The Thrombeys were difficult, selfish, and ignorantly cruel often times… but she’d never been able to see them with the same clarity before. This experience had opened her eyes to the extent of the backstabbing, manipulative ways.

“I hate to leave you like this, Marta,” Benoit noted, his southern lilt comforting to the still nerve-wracked nurse. He’d stuck around for a few days, opting to see a few ends through. Marta was now the sole owner of all of Harlan Thrombey’s assets, the family had scattered to the wind, and Ransom was still being held in the county jail, his request for bail denied. Marta glanced up at Benoit and smiled slightly, appreciative of his lingering protectiveness. She owed him everything.

Smiling back, he set his hand to her shoulder. “Take care.” He left her to the wolves, then. Fortunately, she had a pair of dogs to keep her company, while she kept her family safe from the public eye. The cops had helped put her in touch with a good lawyer that could help her mother get her citizenship at the present time. She didn’t want to move her family into the house until that process was well under way. That left her alone, soaking up the circus spinning on around her from the protected Thrombey mansion.

Because without direction, the media spread their own wild theories about everything that happened. She’d been Harlan’s mistress, framed Ransom for murder, the Thrombeys would sue. On and on.

A week later, a news story broke out about Richard Drysdale’s cheating scandal. She watched Linda pretend to be choked up about it for half a second, before the anger rose. It took the heat off the will and murders, at least in some capacity. All Marta could do was shake her head and murmur, “Poor Linda.” A traitorous husband and murderous son… she couldn’t imagine.

_Warm heart, warm hands._

She pressed her gentle finger against the remote to change the station, and felt that warm heart of hers run cold. Another story, one arguable _far_ more important, but was being overrun by the sensationalism of an affair, crooned through the TV speaker. 

_**Ransom Drysdale, whom pleaded not guilty to the charges of First Degree Murder, Arson, and a series of other small charges, was formally acquitted yesterday.**_

“No,” Marta whispered in horror. 

“Yes,” a deep, rugged voice taunted back. Dark eyes popping wide, Marta flung up from her chair and felt her heart lurch into her throat as she met Ransom’s venomous leer. Immediately, she went looking for the dogs, but he promised her, “The dogs are off chasing a hare I may have let loose. You know predators. When they see prey… they just can’t help themselves.” The way he looked her over had Marta considering that comment with a new understanding.

She bolted, racing for another room. Ransom darted after her, his long arms nearly catching her. He would’ve, if it weren’t for the expensive mahogany end table in his way. Forced to reel back, he took another open archway into the next hall. Marta ran for the door, attempting to unlock it as quickly as she could. Before she could flip the last lock, his arms bound around her. Lifted up by a vice grip, she was only able to screech for a moment before one leather-gloved hand smothered her mouth with a cloth. The lack of air had her panicking and desperately trying to breathe, only for a coppery tang to overwhelm her.

Then, everything went black.


	3. Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ransom wants to prove he's better than Marta, and falls flat on his face.

When Marta woke up, her tongue clucked against the roof of her mouth. The whole thing felt like moldy cotton, which had her grimacing as she tipped up into a seat. The air itself tasted like mold, and when her bleary gaze took note of her surroundings, she realized why. Dingy brown and gray surrounded her, the thick stone walls grimy from lack of use. She shifted her weight over dirt-covered concrete, only a thin, long beam of light offering any visibility from the narrow windows hidden overhead by the wall. A single wooden coffee table, and a twin-sized mattress were the only furnishing the room had.

Dungeon, really.

That fact only cemented itself as true when Marta shifted again, her hands feeling along the ground to give her some greater stability, and she felt cold weight at her wrists. The quiet rattle of chains had her looking down to the metal cuffs latched onto her wrists. Her breath rattled next, her chest heaving beneath the simple blue sweater with white daisies on it. Finally, she felt eyes on her, and lifted her dark gaze to Ransom.

He seemed untouched by his rank surroundings, leaning casually against the iron door that sealed this room shut. The thin streams of light illuminated parts of his face and his bright blue eyes, giving his vacant expression a shroud of mystery. His bulky arms were crossed over his chest, the thick gray sweater he wore doing little to conceal his muscular build. Marta took another unsteady breath, before fury trembled through her unsteady limbs. 

“You psychopath!” she shouted at him, her accent making each word sharper than normal. He didn’t flinch.

“I have you to thank for that, don’t I?” he drawled icily.

“What?”

“If you hadn’t weaseled your way through my family and into my grandfather’s mind, none of this would’ve happened.”

“I didn’t make you murder Fran. You caused that with your own carelessness,” she ridiculed before she could think better of it. His glare turned virulent, the fury darkening his expression somehow making his crystal eyes seem like they were glowing. Pausing for a moment, Marta did her best to keep her nervous swallow discreet. She flinched a little when he pushed up from the wall and marched down the two baby steps into the room. 

Instead of coming at her, he bowed near the other side of the coffee table and pulled a wooden box out of a felt bag. She recognized it instantly, but couldn’t stop herself from asking, “What is this?”

“What’s it look like?” he snapped, the disgust he’d detected in her voice only irritating him further. As he set the box down atop the table, she could hear the little oval pieces clattering within. Scoffing, she sneered at him as he opened the box containing his grandfather’s Go set. 

“I’m not playing with you,” she rejected. Ransom slowed as he set the board down, his murderous glare lifting to her again.

“It’s either this, or I can go bring my grandfather’s masterpiece here, and we can play a few rounds of ‘is it a prop, or is it real?’” Her gut churned at the threat, her heart thumping a thousand times faster remembering how he’d come at her. Neither of them had known it was a prop at the time, and she didn’t want to find out if any on that wheel were real.

“You’re sick,” she choked, stomach churning fearfully.

“And ruining you’ll be my cure,” he bit back, dumping the pieces out across the table. As he set the box aside, Marta inched closer to the other side of the table. She lifted a hand, her chains rattling and making her fingers shake worse than they already were. When she reached for a black piece, Ransom’s long fingers quickly shot out to snatch the piece out from under her. “I’m always the black stones.”

So was she, because Harlan always wanted to be the white pieces. Unwilling to argue, she collected all the white stones to her side, while Ransom hoarded the black. Each held a handful cupped in their palms and bowed over the board. Marta wasn’t entirely surprised when Ransom played with the same swift wit as Harlan. He moved efficiently and intelligently, setting black stones down the second she touched a white stone to the board. 

“How did you get acquitted?” she asked in the midst of their clicking pieces. Ransom’s chiseled jaw flexed briefly, his sharp eyes remaining honed on the board as the two speedily worked through all their pieces.

“The only real piece of evidence they had against me that tied the whole thing together was my confession,” he noted in a deceptively casual tone. “Pay the right people enough money, a simple recording can go missing. The conjecture won’t hold up in court without that, and I did you no real harm when I attacked you. My lawyer argued the week I spent in jail was enough of a punishment.” The last piece snapped to the board, and it only took a brief scan of the board for Ransom to realize who had won. His jaw cinched angrily, the same venom gleaming in his eyes as he said a swift and curt, “Again.”

They collected their pieces and started up again with the same ferocity. Marta’s breath hitched, her lashes fluttering as fear threatened to get the best of her. Somehow, her fingers moved with surety as she mapped out a picture against Ransom’s moves. With more conviction than she felt, she cautiously murmured, “Someone will come looking for me.”

“No. They won’t,” he grunted. The finality in his voice had her pausing to look at him. His forehead was slightly creased with his concentration, and his perfectly tousled hair looked unkempt suddenly. Maybe it was just the lighting. Grunting again, he nudged toward the board, and refused to speak further until she went back to playing. “I sent a letter to your sister. You’ve gone back to Colombia for some things that’ll help with your mother’s citizenship. Don’t know when you’ll be back. In the meantime, they’re to keep laying low and out of the spotlight.”

“How did you-?” She faltered, eyes widening in horror as she gaped at him. This time, he did lift his gaze to hers. His full lips thinned into a tight line, brows furrowing in mild confusion until he realized. His family always fucked up her country of origin. He himself had called her Brazilian a couple weeks ago.

“Your ethnicity is of use to me now,” he noted simply. Eyes falling back to the board, those plump lips twitched dangerously as he realized he’d once again lost. “Again.”

It took his fourth near loss for him to finally slap the board off the table, scattering stones all along the table and across the floor. A visceral growl left him before he barked, “How?! How the fuck do you keep winning?” Marta startled back, dark eyes widening on the man again. In a strange, twisted way, he reminded her so much of Harlan in that moment. The spoiled sport who couldn’t handle losing, and would rather ruin the game for everyone than reach that point. She’d frustrated Harlan to the point of anger before (though the older he got, the more cheery he became even in loss), but Ransom had the unchecked benefit of youth to make his outburst scary.

Never mind the fact this man had tried to kill her only a couple short weeks ago. _Maybe I should’ve let him win._

“I tell you the same thing I did your grandfather,” she chided instead, the lilt of her accept helping her voice sound more confident than she felt. “I am interested in making a picture, not beating you.” Ransom sneered at her and chuffed.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“And yet, I beat you.” She could practically see the steam rising from his ears, his body trembling with the intensity of his anger. She sat still, keeping his gaze despite the trickle of fear worming its way through her.

“Clean this up,” he snapped at her, before he swiveled on his heel and marched out the door. It slammed behind him, thick and echoing. Marta finally flinched and shrunk in on herself, her lip quivering as she tried to make sense of the situation she was suddenly stuck in.


	4. The Line Between Loathe and Lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ransom and Marta reflect on the situation they're in now, and tensions start to rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone else see I Don't Care by Fall Out Boy as Ransom's theme song? Listened to it again today and felt it just fit him so perfectly.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's been reading/commenting on the story thus far. Your support gives me life! I hope you enjoy this next part of the ride :)
> 
> P.S. I'm on this ride, too, because I have no idea where these schmucks are taking me, but I'm fully strapped into this rollercoaster and am excited for the impending climax (hehe)

Ransom fumed on the other side of that door for damn near ten minutes. Irate, humiliated, he couldn’t wrap his head around how the _fuck_ she kept beating him. Despite how she’d outwitted him into a murder confession, he still hadn’t believed his grandfather’s claim she could beat him more often at Go. Now he knew.

She could beat _him_ at Go, too.

Frustrated, he ran a hand into his long brown locks and tugged their tamed chaos into utter abandon. He couldn’t figure her out, and it was already driving him mad. His loathing had the sickest sense of admiration nuzzled up against it, and he wanted to snuff it out.

He couldn’t get her big brown eyes out of his head, the look she’d had when he smothered her to the ground. Shock, horror, disgust. He’d seen that look so many times in his life. For the most part, he was numb to it, but there was something different about the one Marta had given him. It had taken him days to figure it out, and it haunted him now. 

Innocence. It had been an innocent sense of incomprehension, like after all he’d done, she couldn’t believe he’d go for her throat knives out, and something in her had broke. It made the disappointment and anger he’d seen next feel almost worse now, in hindsight, and he hated every second he festered over it. Why did it matter? It shouldn’t. He was so used to appall and outrage, he thrived on it at this point. It kept the fire alive in his belly.

He needed to figure Marta out, learn what made her tick and pull her apart just like every other fuckhead he knew. There was _no way_ she was as innocent and good as she seemed, that much he’d stake his life on. The people in his life, his family especially, had taught him people were pawns, to be used or sacrificed. Everyone was playing a game, gunning for what was best for their own self interests. Marta was no different. He just had to prove it.

And then he had to con her into giving him _everything_. 

~*~

Marta sniffled as she sat bowed over her knees, collecting little oval stones from the ground. The chains weighed her arms down, but the discomfort and the dingy environment hadn’t been the cause of her tears. The second Ransom had slammed the door shut, she’d followed after him. Stupidly, impulsively, she’d gotten up and raced toward the door. The chains rattled the entire way, but she paid them no mind until they finally snagged her, lurching her back and keeping her in place almost two feet shy of the door.

It wasn’t even locked, she suspected.

She could wander almost the entire room uninhibited, if she didn’t count the hindrance of her bindings, but she couldn’t reach the door. It was a sick joke, and her next move had been to check the cuffs properly. An old keyhole she had nothing to pick with (not that she knew how to fucking do that), no weaknesses in the chains, or the rings wedged into the wall, and no strength in her fingertips for any of it. She had nothing but a bed, a table, and Go.

Her tears slipped down her cheeks silently as she worked, the only noise she made being a sniffle here and there. She wiped her cheeks clean once she picked up the last piece, and safely stowed it all away in the carrier box. Shortly after she’d finished crying, the door clanked and moaned as it opened. She startled a little, wringing her arms around her knees to keep still as Ransom trudged down the short steps. Ire still reflected in his eyes, but he seemed to have calmed from earlier. 

A bottle of water was tossed her way, forcing her to flinch out of her fetal position. Somehow, by the grace of God, she caught it with both her hands. Confusion softened her dark eyes as she watched him, a pre-wrapped sandwich from Starbucks tossed toward her next. That one she caught with far less grace, her arm fumbling to tame the package. She managed to pin it between her arm and chest, before setting the bottle down on the table. Once the sandwich had joined the bottle on the table, Marta looked up at him.

“What if I have to go to the bathroom?” she wondered. Ransom quirked a brow.

“Do you?” She nodded. He waited for her telltale sign, arms crossed over his chest until nothing happened. He let out a silent breath and moved for her, arms uncrossing as he approached. She shifted nervously, but he paid her no mind as he pulled the key for her cuffs out of his pocket. Crouching beside her, Ransom unlocked both, only to wind his hand tightly around her bicep.

He dragged her up while she absently rubbed at her freed wrists. Her feet shuffled along beside him as he dragged her to the door, twisting it open so they could walk out into the hall. It took them crossing through it, and out a wooden panel Ransom slid open for Marta to recognize the basement of the Thrombey mansion. Jaw falling slack, her eyes widened as she took in the more familiar architecture, the boxes lined neatly on shelves for storage, and the strange sitting room in the midst of it with more knick knacks and alcohols Harlan enjoyed.

“We’re – we’re in the mansion?!” Marta stammered, her gaze shooting up to Ransom as he pushed her toward the basement’s bathroom. He grunted with a sharp nod.

“My grandfather had that room built when he wrote _Cutter’s Edge_ a few years back, to better visualize the scenery,” Ransom explained factually, before his tone darkened as he added, “Maybe you didn’t know him as well as you think.” Marta’s jaw dropped further as she studied him.

 _Is he jealous?_ No. There was no way this asshole - this murderer who had tried to make her the same brand of evil - felt jealous over her relationship with his deceased grandfather. He was as good as guilty for Harlan’s death as well, and she refused to question the strange comment further. They finally reached the bathroom anyway, and he shoved her into it before his body crowded the door, blocking it the way the actual _door_ would.

“Are you going to just stand there the whole time?” Marta asked, eying him suspiciously. Instead of answering, Ransom lifted his arms over his head, hooking his fingers around the molding atop the doorframe. One of his knees bent, giving his posture a languid sort of haughtiness. Eyes narrowing hatefully, Marta rolled her eyes and pushed her sweats down her hips. 

For a brief moment, Ransom’s eyes widened a little, his gaze inadvertently dropping to the perky round globes that came into view in their full glory. Nostrils flaring, his eyes minutely dilated at smooth olive skin, he had to admit he was impressed. He didn’t think she had it in her, but she twisted around and sat down on the toilet seat without batting an eyelash. 

_Nurse,_ he thought, settling his own curiosity quickly. She couldn’t rightly be squeamish with normal bodily functions when she had to deal with abnormalities and failing health, could she? He leered at her for a moment longer, before twisting in the doorway to partially face away from her. It gave her some semblance of privacy as she relieved her bladder, though she glared at her captor’s profile.

“Are you going to do this every time? With _everything_ ,” Marta asked. Ransom rolled his eyes, head tipping against the door molding.

“I could just not feed you,” he taunted coolly, “save myself the trouble.”

“If you want to kill me, Ransom, just do it,” Marta shot back, face contorting with disgust as she ripped some toilet paper off the roll. 

“What good would that do me now?”

“Then what’s the point of this?” The toilet flushed. Ransom glanced back, catching a glimpse of one slender thigh before her pants were back in place. He didn’t answer, just watched as she washed her hands in the sink. He gave her three seconds to dry her hands on the towel hanging beside the sink before he grabbed her arm again. Huffing irritably, Marta tried to jerk her arm out of his grasp, only to gasp a moment later as his fingers tightened. 

“Now you know why I have to stand in the doorway,” he commented, icy eyes slanting toward her briefly. 

“Just let me go you asshole!” she barked, ignoring his warning to tug back against him again. Her feet slid worse as she tried to resist being dragged back toward the iron door, but Ransom had little issue dragging her along. His biceps hardened to ensure she continued moving.

“And where would the fun be in that? We’re just getting started.” 

“So, what? You’re just going to keep me locked up in this – this dungeon! Are you planning to torture me, too?”

“Don’t be so simple-minded. I’m not a barbarian.”

“You could’ve fooled me.” Marta’s snide comment had Ransom’s eyes narrowing. Fury bubbling up in his gut again, he stopped and gripped his free hand to her other shoulder. Twisting them to face one another, his fingers dug into her skin as his icy eyes glowered daggers into hers. Despite her fear, and the twitch of pain across her facial features, she held his gaze, her dark eyes stark and determined. For a second, he couldn’t help being impressed. Everything about her seemed meek and breakable, yet she refused to be unnecessarily intimidated by him. 

He could’ve kissed her.

He could’ve killed her. 

He did neither. Instead, he twisted her back around and shoved her into the secret cell his grandfather had built. “Put up a fight, and I’ll chloroform you again,” he snapped, pushing her toward the cuffs that secured her in the room. She thought about it, but testing her prowess against Ransom was destined to _not_ go her way. She needed a plan, and her dark eyes drifted toward his pants’ pocket as he secured the metal around her wrists. When his attention turned up to her face, she lifted her eyes to glare at him.

They were close enough that their breaths mingled between them, heated and heavy. Ransom would never admit to how much willpower it took not to swallow and look at her full-lipped pout. “Eat. Drink. When you’re finished, we’ll discuss your penance for ruining my family’s life,” he snapped, retreating from her before the warmth could tinge his ears red and give him away. When he was gone, and the door clanged shut behind him, Marta felt a chill creep into her bones in his wake.


	5. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since Ransom's last master plan didn't go well with secrecy, he decides to be on the nose about this one and torture Marta with the inevitable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how I feel about this one, but I like the ending and am loving the next. Hopefully you all do too, but please let me know how you feel! Any feedback is appreciated :)

After her sandwich and half her water were gone, Marta rubbed her arm absently. It still ached slightly from Ransom’s grip, and pulling the shoulder of her sweater aside revealed a cluster of finger-sized bruises. She studied the minor blemishes for a moment before puffing out a breath and releasing her sleeve. The collar fell against her frame, a little more unkempt than before. Not long after that, Ransom returned.

He stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the molding again, hands stuffed in his slacks’ pockets. “You know, I always thought I was my grandfather’s favorite,” he commented randomly, a deceptively charming half-smirk gracing his face. Years ago, when Marta had first started working for Harlan Thrombey, she’d found that smirk as charming as any red-blooded woman. Now, it had a chill running up her spine. “It’s half the reason my mother hates me, the other half I think being I remind her of him. And his lack of approval in her, she likes to take out on me.”

Marta’s eyes narrowed at the strangely personal monologue. She’d never known Ransom to talk so intimately about his family dynamics. “But you… you became so damn important to him, he forsook his whole family,” he reflected. After a significant amount of thought in his jail cell over the last week and change, his hatred had turned toward amazement. Shaking his head, he wondered, “How’d you do it?”

“Don’t act like you care about your family, Ransom,” Marta deflected, shaking her head at him. For someone who openly despised them, he certainly liked to group himself together with them when making a righteous declaration. Whether it was a smokescreen for his own selfishness, or some twisted, conditioned loyalty she didn’t understand, she’d likely never know. What she did know was, “I don’t even think you cared about your grandfather.”

“Well, I’d argue he stopped caring first. Cutting us all out like that, without any damn warning? I’ve seen him do some vindictive shit before, but that took the cake. He may as well have tattooed ‘Disowned’ across all our foreheads.”

“He wasn’t disowning you, he was trying to make you grow! To force you to finally think for yourself, for all of you to make something of yourselves past your empty greed for his money,” Marta defended, feeling angry for Harlan’s memory. Ransom barked out a laugh, his brows lifting high on his head.

“Is that what he told you?” he asked incredulously, heavy footfalls trudging down the steps. “You’re more naïve than I thought.”

“No. He told me at his birthday party. The last few years, he’d started reflecting more on his life, and he feared all of your family’s leeching was limiting your potential.”

“And what changed him so profoundly? _You?_ ” Ransom sneered. Marta glared at him, but opted not to answer. She couldn’t, because she didn’t believe she could have such an effect on someone. She just believed in her friend.

“Seeing how all of you reacted after you found out about the will, I think he was right. You are all spoiled rotten, and cruel,” Marta noted, her dark eyes watching Ransom cautiously, but intently as she added, “most of all you.” She’d expected his stare to sharpen with anger, but something else made his eyes glint a little differently. His jaw clenched, sharpening his cheeks, and his lips pressed together in a subtle effort to keep his expression schooled.

Was he… hurt?

The look flickered away too quickly, his eyes turning colder as his captivating smile broadened. “Got me all figured out, huh?”

“You tried to murder me. You murdered Fran. And you tried to frame me for your grandfather’s death, which makes you guilty of killing him, too. What else is there to know?” Marta asked him, practically dared him. His bright eyes searched her, her gumption almost leading him to argue. Instead, he pursed his lips and shrugged. Marta actually found herself surprised. Ransom never bowed away from a headstrong argument.

“About me? Guess nothing. About you? _Everything_ ,” he teased while approaching her huddled position in the corner. “And you never answered my question. How’d you weasel your way so wholly into my grandfather’s will?”

Marta straightened a little, taken aback by his use of the word _will_ instead of _heart. Psychopath,_ she reminded herself. “I did nothing. Just my job. I listened to him, took care of him - _medically_ \- and that’s it.” She paused when she noticed Ransom was still inching closer, rounding the wooden coffee table so he was able to crouch before her, just a couple feet away. If he reached his arm out, he could brush her knee.

“So that’s it, huh? You just played secret keeper and drug lord to him, and he gave you everything?” Ransom’s eyes narrowed skeptically, but curiosity had softened his expression somewhat. His mouth in particular. Soft, plump lips rubbed together thoughtfully. Marta could practically see the gears ticking behind his vibrant eyes. She couldn’t bring her own to stop searching his shadowed face, the dim lighting of the room keeping her from seeing past his mesmerizing features. 

Blinking out of her stupor, Marta shook her head a little. She didn’t know how many times she could tell these people she didn’t understand Harlan’s choice, and had never expected this to happen. “Harlan was always playing a game,” she quietly reminded instead, hoping that would get further with the thickheaded psychopath. Ransom snorted, the sound so foreign Marta’s eyes widened in muted awe.

“Well, that’s true,” he agreed, lips quirking humorously.

“You’re playing a game with me now,” Marta realized after a moment, Ransom’s strange similarity to his grandfather striking her. Light blue eyes focused on her, and a smile split wide across his face, wicked and handsome all at once.

“And what game do you think we’re playing?”

“You tell me.” Ransom stared at her, blinking lazily. When she realized he wouldn’t answer himself, Marta reflected on what he’d said thus far and reiterated, “’How to best punish Marta for ruining my life?’” She’d even done her best to mock his accent. Brows lifting minutely, a wolfish grin spread along Ransom’s lips, and something akin to pride gleamed in his eyes. 

“Lets dig into that, shall we?” he mused, pushing up to take a seat on the edge of the coffee table instead. He bowed over his knees, hands crossing together before him, and Marta had the strangest feeling, like she was suddenly a mouse caught in a cat’s claws. The mirth in his eyes spelled nothing good for her. “What would ruin Marta’s life the most? Your mother getting deported? No, I don’t think so. With the funds you have now, it’d be only a matter of time before that’s corrected, and its old news anyway.”

Unlike the rest of his family, he wasn’t so small-minded. “Your sister? I suppose I _could_ do something to her,” Ransom noted, watching as Marta flinched with anger and fear beginning to boil. He tipped his head. “At least that gets a reaction, but that’s a sloppy surface strike. That doesn’t _really_ let me get back at you. No. I gotta dig deeper. Really understand what it is you care about. And I think I’ve got it.” He slid forward, off the coffee table and onto his knees. Moving with purposeful slowness, his fingers planted against the edges of the mattress Marta was perched on as he crouched forward, forcing her to bow back from his encroaching figure if she didn’t want them to touch. 

Her breath rattled, dark eyes narrowing as she used her own hands to shift back slightly. She refused to let him unnerve her into scrambling though, and she had a purpose. Holding her ground, her throat closed and heart thundered as he loomed over her, a single hand coming up to touch at the edges of her narrow chin and sharp jawline. Her skin crawled, goose bumps racing along her flesh from the simple caress. 

Almost admiringly, he revealed, “It’s that goddamn self-righteous conscience of yours. You clung to it even in your survival. It chewed you up to think your hands were dirty, and I watched it happen. Fuck, I was banking on it at the end, after seeing how choked you were at the pub. I thought you’d confessed to the whole thing, corroborate my story word for word just to clear away your own guilt.” He paused, light eyes brightening in both amazement and agitation. His head bobbed and he tapped his finger against the edge of her jaw.

“Yet that _same_ conscience fucked me over. You decided to save Fran instead of your own skin, and everything unraveled. My plan, my life. So to repay the favor, I’m gonna cut you open and steal your heart, twist that conscience right on its head. This is ‘Make Marta the bad guy, two-point-oh’. And what better way to make you hate yourself than to make you fall in love with me… the cruel, careless psychopath,” he teased, laughing breathily at his own evil ploy. Blinking, Marta gaped at him.

“Now I _know_ you’re crazy. That’ll never happen!”

“Oh, I don’t know. I know how to make a woman beg for mercy,” he mused, snickering as he leaned forward. Marta’s hand shot out to station at his hip, keeping him at bay as her thumb shifted beneath the flap of his pocket.

“Does it usually start with you locking them in the basement?” she mocked.

“No, but… I didn’t see another way I could get us some quality time. You have yourself to blame for that, you know. You bolted the second you saw me. You shouldn’t be so paranoid,” he mocked her back. Fury seized her chest.

“You asshole,” she breathed, eyes narrowing after a beat. Jutting her chin up and out of his grasp, she glared him down, unwilling to be intimidated by his encroaching frame. “Such a clever asshole,” she chided again, “talk big, plan every detail, have your contingencies. But you have the same blind spot you did before. _Compassion_. You know _nothing_ about compassion, and so you will lose this ‘game’ the same way you did the last.” The same strange look overcame Ransom’s expression, the seething rage hiding something else, something softer and wounded. Jaw clenching, a rattled breath left him before he twisted away from her and left.

Marta let out a heavy breath and sunk against the mattress. Her dark eyes lowered to her fingers, heart still thudding in disbelief as she looked over the slender metal key she’d fished from Ransom’s pocket in the midst of their tension-riddled debate.


	6. The Escape... Escalates

Upstairs, Ransom rubbed the fingers of a single hand together. A disgusted noise left him at the grime he felt there. Moving for the kitchen sink, he turned the faucet on and set his hands beneath the cool rush of water. He lathered his skin with the hand soap set beside the faucet, and washed his hands clean. Somehow, that just made the rest of him feel even grungier. 

Grunting irritably, he shut the sink off and haphazardly dried his hands. Twisting around, he gripped the back of his sweater and tugged it over his head. He tossed it onto the back of a chair, and moved toward the bathroom. After a single step, however, he paused and tilted his head. Something didn’t feel right, and it took a moment to realize. Brows lifting, a smile slowly curved his lips upward as he reached two deft fingers into his pocket.

“Oh, Marta,” he murmured, his flabbergast muted by intrigue. Blue eyes wide and alert, he glanced around the home and asked himself, _How would she try to escape?_ The storm cellar was locked, and all the windows downstairs were so rusted and grimy, he doubted she’d try to climb through any of them. “Marta,” he called again, this time louder and singsong. He stalked through the home with renewed purpose, his muscles already coiling for action. She wouldn’t try the front door again, he was certain. With all the locks, it’d take too long. A window, then, but which one?

“Come on, play with me, Little Mouse,” he murmured to himself. Rounding another winding hall of the mansion, he froze and snapped his head to the left, where Marta had her body halfway curled up inside an opened kitchen window. “There you are.” He rushed her with long, purposeful strides. The second he got close enough, she had herself perched and ready to fling herself to freedom. Before she could, his thick arms wrapped around her torso and yanked her back inside.

She yipped as he dragged her back, her nails biting into his veiny forearms while her legs wildly kicked out in the air. Ransom twisted them around, his arms lifting individually to catch her own arms beneath his biceps. As he bound her more tightly to his chest, he growled, “Stop. Stop!” She wouldn’t, not this time, not when she’d tasted freedom on her tongue. She writhed, wrenching her weight against his vice grip. His muscles bulged around her, squeezing tighter until he realized she wasn’t going to stop. She just let out another roar and kicked her legs out to try and find some kind of leverage.

Grunting, he repositioned one of his hands against her hip and spun her around. Keeping his hand there, he drove her back while his other pushed at her shoulder, effectively lifting her legs up and pushing her torso down against the kitchen table they’d slowly been fighting their way towards. The wood clattered from the impact, both grunting as the world shook to a stand still for a split second. Expression contorting in ire, Marta lashed up for his face. He managed to jerk his head away from her clawing nails, and his own fingers wrapped around her wrists to pin them against the table, his hips jutting forward to trap her waist against the edge of the wooden surface. 

A laugh left him, light and cheery. “And here I was thinking all these years you were just a bore,” he murmured, eyes glinting mirthfully.

“Fuck you, Ransom!” Marta barked, face flushed and knee coming up to jab his side – _anywhere_ she could reach. Jerking on her arm, he jutted his elbow back to connect with the soft tissue above her knee, eliciting a high-pitched yip from her. 

“You want to?” he goaded, leaning into his grip on her, one hand held above her head and the other stationed near their cemented hips. He bucked, hips nudging into hers until her body jounced atop the table. A slow, desirous breath left him at the blissful friction, while she gasped sharply. As their pelvises stilled and rested together, Marta finally couldn’t stop her gaze from wandering. Thick biceps, a firm chest, and perfectly chiseled abs cut into six mouth-watering sections even when they weren’t flexed. If he had any hair, he shaved it meticulously, because like his jawline, there was nothing to inhibit the flawlessness of his build. 

She flushed visibly, her dark eyes dilating almost in sync with his. Lips thinning into a tight line, she jerked her gaze up to his face and snapped, “Get off me.” He glared at her stonily, before he rolled his eyes and pitched back. Hands still wound around her wrists, he lifted one hand and spun her beneath his arms, effectively trapping her in a cage made out of her own crisscrossed limbs and his broad torso. Her anger made her vibrate, and he chortled a little until the dust clinging to her hitched in the back of his throat. He chuffed, and cleared it the best he could before bucking his hips into her backside, driving her into walking with the simple move.

“I can’t believe you tried to crawl through those windows down there,” he chastised while shaking his head. “They’re disgusting. Now you need a shower.”

“If you weren’t keeping me in a dungeon, I wouldn’t.”

“Hmm. So sorry I didn’t have time to do some interior decorating for you.” She rolled her eyes. She’d never hated someone before, but Ransom made her veins boil and her nerves writhe with something she couldn’t contain. A litany of Spanish expletives fired from her lips. Ransom tilted his head, amazed not just by the sound of the language leaving her sharpened tongue – it suited her more than English, he thought – but because he could practically taste her anger. He whistled. 

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” he quipped, clever enough to guess whatever she’d said hadn’t been favorable. As they passed through the halls, Ransom suddenly stopped at a half bathroom wedged underneath one of the staircases. He considered it a moment, before he pushed her toward it and let one of her arms go. She spun out and stumbled through the door before he released her other hand. “Clean up in here,” he encouraged, nodding his head toward the half-closed door. Marta’s lips parted, her brows furrowing in minor confusion before she glanced toward the door.

“So you’re going to let me close it this time?”

“Would you prefer I watch?” He took a step closer, eyes glinting eagerly. She scowled at him and gripped the door as a shield. Brows lifting, he tipped his head at her derisively and chided, “Then I’ll trust you to _not_ do what you just did for the sake of getting the dust out of your hair.” She hesitated a moment, before she opted not to argue with the asshole and clicked the door shut. The second she was enclosed in, she searched the space – like she hadn’t used it a dozen times before – and quickly realized what bathroom he’d chosen.

No windows, a vent so small a cat probably couldn’t crawl through it. There was no escape but the door with Ransom waiting on the other side, and no useable weapons unless she suddenly figured out how to ninja an antique soap dispenser into something deadly. Blowing out a breath, she finally looked at herself in the mirror. Dust bunnies had made their bed atop her hair, and smudges of dirt darkened her olive cheeks and forehead. Frowning a little, she bowed over the sink and turned the faucet on.

She turned the water on a little cooler than usual, to help with more than the grime. Her cheeks and the back of her neck still felt on fire, and she refused to admit that came from anything more than her anger.

She started working the dirt spots away from her skin with the running water, before moving to the harder task of massaging it clean from her ebony hair. A few minutes in to her sink-shower, a gentle knock echoed. She looked sharply toward the door, eyes narrowing as she blotted her fingers against the hand towel to open the door. She cracked it only a sliver, eying Ransom standing on the other side. He held his hand out, one of her simple sweaters loosely gripped between his fingers. Her suspicious leer remained, but she accepted the article of clothing with a simple, albeit reluctant, “Thanks.”

“You know, the offer to watch still sta-“ she snapped the door shut on him. He rolled his eyes, though his smirk gave away his amusement. He leaned against the opposite wall, offering her as much time in the bathroom as she wanted while he scrolled through his phone. So far, he had five missed calls and two voicemails. Two from his mother, one from his lawyer (both of whom had left the voicemails), one from an old hookup wanting his most recent fame to bring her some attention, and the last was from Meg.

His eyes narrowed at that one in particular, but Marta finally opened the bathroom door. He glanced up, blinking stupidly at how lovely she looked in the thin peach sweater he’d grabbed from her laundry pile in one of the common rooms. Dark, damp hair hung around her face freely, the tie she used to keep it half pinned back taken out necessarily. It was the only way she could get all the dirt out of it. She met his gaze, her own stare uncertain as she tucked her hair behind her ear. Ransom rubbed his fingers together reflexively. 

“You couldn’t put your shirt back on?” Marta wondered sharply. Keeping her eyes from wandering his still half-clad figure was irritatingly more difficult than she liked, and it showed in her tone of voice.

“Why? Is it distracting you?” he taunted, grinning wolfishly again. Marta rolled her eyes and forced her leer elsewhere.

“How long are you going to play this game?” she asked carefully.

“As long as it takes.”

“I won’t fall for you in a dungeon.” _Don’t you mean you won’t fall for him at all,_ she had to ask herself. Ransom shrugged, unconcerned for the moment.

“Maybe not… but we’re both too far down this rabbit hole to turn back now,” Ransom pointed out, his hand gripping around her arm again. Marta didn’t fight again, but her cheeks flushed angrily as they headed back for the cellar stairs. She knew what this really had to be about. The inheritance. It’s all any of the Thrombeys really cared about. She probably could’ve ended this by offering to give Ransom his portion, but what then? What if he asked for more? For all of it?

She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

His ploy with Colombia wouldn’t work forever. She just had to bide her time. Someone would come looking for her if she couldn’t get out of this herself, she was sure of it. He glanced toward her as they made it downstairs, eyes narrowing ever so slightly when she didn’t put up a fuss. He didn’t comment on it for the time being, and finished fastening her cuffs in place before he waggled the key at her face in taunt.

“You’re a beast,” Marta snapped, disgusted by his gloating. Icy eyes searched her for a prolonged moment.

“I am. Everyone knows it, but I don’t think _I_ knew the extent of it until you snapped my chain,” he murmured, tapping the key against the literal chain holding her in place. The metallic hum sang between them for a moment, before Ransom met Marta’s gaze again. He kept himself from looking lower to her pouting lips, and curled his fingers tighter around the key to stop himself from cupping her jaw again. He hated how much he wanted her. “You stripped all my bullshit away and showed everyone who I really am.”

“I think Benoit did more than I with that,” Marta argued quietly. 

“Ehhh,” Ransom drawled, his lip curling in disagreement. He shook his head. “He pieced the facts together, but you’re the one who took me on the ride, forced me to keep changing my moves until I was knee-deep in my own shit.” Pausing, he licked his lips of the bitter taste left behind. Fury made his chest ache, but it was quiet compared to the storm that had driven him to grab that prop knife. His cold glare snapped to her doe-eyed gaze, and again he found himself caught between loathe and lust. 

“You won my grandfather’s affection, and his respect,” he repeated, still unable to wrap his head around that. He shook his head from the disbelief. “I can count the number of people who’ve earned that on one hand, but no one’s gotten affection. No one. I think I’m starting to understand why you did, but I know there’s way more to it than lending him your ear and getting him high. And I think there’s more to it than you see, too.” The look in her eye had changed. Her body stiffened, and her big brown eyes had an alert, almost nervous twinkle in them. He smiled. “There’s a fire in you I wanted to put out that day.” 

Now, he wanted to set it ablaze.

Taking a breath, he finally reached his hand out, pausing when she shied away, her arm coming up to protect herself. His eyes narrowed, but he curled his fingers into a fist and lowered his hand while warning her, “This is our game, Marta. I don’t know how to stop. I don’t think I’ve ever known how to stop. So tame me back into my civil chains, before I break you free of this angelic little shell you keep yourself locked in.” Marta furrowed her brows at him, staring long and hard at the deranged man across from her.

“You should’ve been a writer,” she noted absently. She had a moment of satisfaction as his brows lifted in surprise. She couldn’t quite smile, but the curious amusement twinkled in her eye, along with a trace of sorrow. “You speak bullshit so prettily,” she noted, reflecting on his silver-spun ultimatum. Her eyes flickered over his large build, and she almost swallowed realizing that she knew what it felt like to be crushed beneath him. “You know how to plot. You know how people work – almost. Mmm.. Maybe that’s the difference.” 

Her mind trailed off for a moment, and Ransom found himself leaning nearer, ironically hanging on her every word. She certainly knew how to spin a story as well, and her inability to lie somehow made it all the more captivating – and impactful when she finally revealed the punch line. “Harlan put his wicked mind to a pen. You chose a knife.” 

The look on his face was unreadable again, but she looked away this time, still unwilling to play.


	7. Misdirection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ransom uses other pieces to keep his game set in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, finally a subtle taste of why this is marked as explicit lol

Ransom paced slowly upstairs, eyes on his phone. The dogs barked incessantly outside. He was going to have to do something about them, but for now, he ignored them entirely as he listened to his voicemails. He needed a distraction after the off-kilter conversation he’d had with Marta. His mother’s shrill voice was perfect for killing any intelligible thoughts, though had him rolling his eyes. 

_Taking after Dad’s great example, I just wanted you to know you’ve been written out of my will. You and your father both can – how do you put it? Oh yeah, **eat shit** for the rest of eternity._

“Fucking bitch,” Ransom snarled to himself, rolling his eyes more angrily while deleting the message. He listened to the one from his lawyer next.

 _Hello Mr. Drysdale. I have that information you requested, if you could give me a call back at the office, we can schedule a time for you to pick it up._ Well, at least there was some good news for the day. He took a shower first, and in that time sought to relieve tension in another way. Frustrating as Marta’s dismissive resistance was, he also found the challenge stimulating. 

Her big eyes and perky, shapely chest helped that stimulation twitch straight into his dick more than once. He gripped ahold of his half hard cock and finally let himself feel the extent of his want. Head bowing to his other forearm, he closed his eyes and pictured her plump, pretty lips parting on a gasp. He remembered the weight of her, and how easy it had been to jostle her with a simple buck - how much better that might’ve felt had his pulsing cock been the driving force behind the writhing of her slender figure. 

He rubbed one out the same way he did everything in life; fast and meticulous. 

It only took a few moments of his broad fist stroking from base to head for a quiet gasp to escape him. The evidence of his desire washed down the shower drain as he took a steadying breath and his muscular shoulders finally relaxed. Once he cleaned up, he called his lawyer back and set up a time to pick up the information he’d wanted in a few days. It gave him time to focus on his next move with Marta. Fortunately, (or not given this particular thorn), an opportunity presented itself. He’d checked her phone, and found a missed call from one Benoit Blanc.

He rued the day he’d ever hired that stupid fucking PI.

For a long time, he thumbed her cellular device while debating what to do. After awhile, the dogs’ barking grew to be too infuriating. He growled himself while checking the time. _Food,_ he noted, realizing he had forgotten to eat himself between everything that had happened the last couple days. Sighing irritably, he went for the closet he’d unfortunately seen Fran dig into too many times and grabbed for the bowls and kibble, his lip curled in detest the entire time. 

He moved through the kitchen, watching them scratch at and bark at the back door. Shaking their bowls, he whistle as he moved for the window Marta had tried to escape through. It overlooked the deck, and had the closest straight shot to the woods behind the property. He glanced toward it briefly before dropping both bowls to the wood outside. As they clattered and the dogs came scurrying, he quickly shut the window to block them back out. In fact, he did a quick sweep of the rest of the house after that, making sure every door was bolted and window locked. The dogs didn’t bark at _everyone_ , and the last thing he needed was someone to sneak up on him and ‘accidentally’ find a way in.

 _Benoit will come snooping again if you can’t stave him off._ He knew it. He really only had one choice, but it was a terrible idea. Lips thinning together, he wracked his brain for _any_ other plan, and came up with zilch. Growling out a breath, he went for his computer and sat down at the kitchen table. Glancing toward the worn, but polished wood, he smirked briefly. He _really_ hadn’t minded laying Marta out across it, much to his surprise. Part of him had expected to lose interest once they engaged again, but she continued to keep him on his toes. The fact that he couldn’t fully anticipate the game ahead kept him invested in the whole damn thing.

Considering he’d just jacked off in the shower to this very thing, his daydreaming instantly irked him. Rolling his eyes at himself, he focused back on his task a hand. A quick look to confirm Colombia was in the same time zone as them and Benoit was all he needed. He headed downstairs, a plastic bag covered trashcan in one hand, and Marta’s phone in the other. He entered the hidden cell, sliding the wooden panel closed behind him. His boot – the latest black Timberlands given the nature of his current activities – connected with the iron door to shove it open. 

Marta lifted her head to regard him, the dark blue cable knit he had on helping his icy eyes stand out more. He looked almost ethereal standing amidst the grime, but as she looked closer, Marta noticed something she hadn’t before. The collar of the knitted fabric had frayed, almost like something had chewed through its fine lines. As he drew closer, she could see how the wool’s integrity was failing, a layer of fuzzy hairs showing how worn the sweater was. Brows knitting pensively, her dark eyes lifted to search for the answer in his devilishly handsome face.

Stubbornly, she ignored how her throat dried while thinking about all his decaying sweater hid (and didn’t _really_ hide at all. His muscles still bulged from the knitted fabric). _I just need water,_ she told herself, pressing her lips together tighter as her stomach churned in protest.

“Blanc called you. You need to call him back,” Ransom told her, snapping her back to the present. And what a snap it was.

“What?” Marta’s eyes widened. Her heart skipped a beat realizing this was an opportunity, but as Ransom sat the trashcan near her, her stomach flipped. “What are you expecting me to tell him?”

“How you’re in Colombia, and he shouldn’t worry. I assume he called because he saw I was let out of jail,” Ransom spoke plainly.

“Ransom – no, I can’t! You know I can’t lie.”

“Oh, you can. You held it in long enough to let me ramble about my crimes. You can hold it in long enough to tell Benny Boy to fuck off.” He crouched before her again, and held her phone out to her. As the weight of it settled over her fingers, she felt a lump form in her throat. Again, freedom felt a breath away, another cruel joke. He hovered, watching, waiting. Would she call the cops? He’d break her phone before the call ever made it through. Would she try telling Benoit the truth? He’d move her before anyone could find her. Contact her sister? Ransom had already threatened her.

For the first time, Marta realized she _had_ to play his game.

She swallowed bile already trying to rise back down. Tears prickled at the corner of her eyes as her fingers curled around the phone in a vice grip. His piercing gaze never left her face as she focused on hitting redial on Benoit’s number. It rang twice before he picked up. “Marta,” he breathed, relieved, before he quickly asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yes. I’m fine,” she assured, her stomach strangely settled in place. It wasn’t until she said, “I’m sorry I missed your call, I- I’m in Colombia right now,” that she felt it roil angrily. Ransom’s smile split wide, as wicked and gleeful as it had the day he’d watched his family crumble to pieces at the will reading.

“Oh,” he noted, surprised. “Oh I see. Needed to get away?” The humor carried through his voice, and she huffed weakly.

“Something like that. I’m actually here for my mother, to collect some info for her case.” _God, what am I doing?_ Her stomach churned horribly, and she felt the impending clench in her chest. Benoit remarked in intrigue, but Marta could hardly hear him over the blood rushing through her ears. “I’m sorry, Mister Blanc-“

“Benoit, Marta. Please.”

“Benoit,” she choked, retching a little over the trashcan. “I must go. I just wanted to let you know not to worry-“ she couldn’t make it. With her last bit of wits, she hit the mute button and puked into the trashcan.

“Listen, Marta. Before you go, I want to advise you to go to the police station when you’re back in Massachusetts. Request a restraining order against Mister Drysdale. Now, I wouldda told you to do that from the get go, but I hadn’t expected the devil to weasel his way out of jail so soon. That’s an error on my part, but I aim to repent by encouraging you to get that in place sooner than later, in case he comes up with some other _brilliant_ plan,” Benoit rambled, even his distaste coming through coated in southern politeness. Ransom rolled his eyes and sneered, able to pick up enough of the conversation. Marta had finished upchucking, and took a moment to catch her breath before she unmuted the phone.

“Okay. I’ll consider it,” she promised, curling in on herself atop the mattress. Her hand settled against her stomach as it finally quieted down. She would consider it, and how it was already too late. Dark eyes locked with Ransom’s cold leer. “Thank you.”

“I worry about you.”

“I know.” Her heart ached. The realization that this could be the last time for awhile she spoke with someone who truly cared about her weighing on her. It had only been a day, but she missed her family, she longed to stay on the phone with Benoit just to listen to his southern lilt. Ransom’s expectant stare was a cold splash of water reminding her of her present situation. “Goodbye,” she murmured, before hanging up the phone. Ransom’s lips pursed to hide how impressed he felt while Marta tiredly handed back her phone.

“That deserves a reward,” he noted, before he glanced toward the sullied trashcan. After a pregnant pause, he quietly realized, “That can’t be good for you.”

“It isn’t. And neither are you,” Marta griped, drawing Ransom’s gaze back to her.

“Oh, I dunno about that.”

“I have thrown up more in the last few weeks than I have in years. That is because _you_ make me have to lie for my survival.” 

“I think part of you liked it,” he declared boldly. Marta’s attention snapped toward him, and he amended, “Not the puking, or the lying… but the rush. The adrenaline. The high speed stakes.” He quirked a single brow, before he laughed and noted, “ _Literally_. When you whipped that little hatchback of yours around and took off… Christ. I’ve been in a lot of fast cars - _with_ drag racers behind the wheel once or twice, mind you – and I’ve never experienced something so thrilling.” And terrifying, honestly, but he wasn’t about to admit that part aloud. “I had to ask myself if _you_ were some kind of getaway driver back in the land of savages.”

Anger flared in Marta’s eyes, and Ransom reveled in it. Eager, salivating, she could see him egging for a fight, his muscles coiling in anticipation. Brows furrowing, her lips pulled into a soft frown as she searched his chiseled features. _Psychopath,_ one part of her reminded, while another, renewed piece of her couldn’t help thinking, _what a sad soul_. Rolling her eyes, she leaned back against the wall and continued to hold herself. “You’re the only savage here, Asshole,” she murmured.

Ransom’s lip twitched, his eyes narrowing when he couldn’t figure out whether he was amused or annoyed. Annoyed, certainly, but he found himself more curious than anything. His chest felt tight as he glared at the ground, like a chess player stuck on his next move. He struggled with himself for several moments before he finally asked, “Were you some getaway driver?” Marta’s brows furrowed incredulously at him. He didn’t look at her for a moment, seemingly uncomfortable with the more politely (really _plainly_ ) stated question. When he did meet her gaze, the ice in his stare seemed to have melted a little.

She hesitated, but then admitted, “No. I – I just reacted. All I could think of was getting away.” Again, Ransom found himself impressed by her obvious intelligence, her ability to perform effectively in any situation. He nodded, containing his admiration to the gleam in his crystal eyes. Marta felt the hesitation again, but this time, it came from the other side. She watched his chest expand, a breath taken necessarily to break his locked position. He lifted up and gripped the trashcan to take it with him out of the room.

His lip curled distastefully when he realized he had to be the one to clean it up, and when he caught a whiff of the rancid aroma he grunted, “Ugh. Why do you do this, Marta?”

“I don’t know,” she bemoaned abysmally.


	8. Who's Playing Who Here?

Ransom was in and out a lot over the next few days. He stopped by his own modern home to check on it and pick up a few things, though paused to admire the sleek, open space once inside. He far preferred his steely fixtures and glass walls to the museum his grandfather lived in, or the knock off manor his mother had bought to try and imitate her old man. Their homes were antiquated and cluttered, where his remained so meticulously manicured, it almost looked like no one lived in it. 

He pinched his fingers around a stray fuzz on the back of his couch, before moving into his room to collect his things. He didn’t have much in the way of personal effects. A watch, some books, his own steely Go set (custom made, of course). His clothes were the most personal things to him, and it showed in their wear. He grabbed a few of his favorite sweaters, another pair of slacks and his comfiest pair of sweatpants. Underwear, one of his books, and an expensive multi-faced watch were all collected before he left the home again.

He stopped by the hardware store to collect what he needed to begin his new project, the grocery store awhile later for some actual necessities, and went to see his lawyer to pick up the information she owed him. “This costs a pretty penny, you know,” she jibed at him, her amber eyes positively green with greed.

“Put it on my tab,” he jabbed back, uncaring for the cost when he maybe should’ve.

“Do you even have enough to cover my base fee these days?” Now _everyone_ was stabbing at their shriveled pockets. Eyes flashing angrily, he flipped her off. 

“When have I ever _not_ been good for the money?” he snapped in parting, hackles raised and teeth grit. When he got back to his silver hot rod, he noticed another missed call from Meg. This time, she’d left a voicemail, and his eyes narrowed on it. _Call me back, Asshole,_ was all she’d said. He promptly sent the middle finger, poop, and pie emojis back.

_Fuck you, Shit Pie_.

Tossing his phone across the passenger seat, he ignored how it bounced off the leather and clattered against the door as it fell. He shifted the car into gear and took off, racing back for the Thrombey mansion to get back to work. It took another two days for him to finish, his interactions with Marta limited to only what was necessary in those moments. He could tell she was beginning to despair, the lack of light, human connection, or any sort of stimulation, really, finally getting to her.

_Good,_ he thought. He wanted that doe-eyed, petrified look back in her eyes. The hope, the desperation, the _dependence_. He wanted how she’d looked at him in that pub back, the little murmured _thank you_ , the panic in her gaze when the cops had taken him away ( _before_ he’d tried to stab her, when she’d actually wanted him near still). His throat went a little dry thinking about it, and maybe if she felt a little touch-starved and needy, she’d be all the more appreciative of her reward.

And then just as quickly, he grew agitated. Why the hell was he fantasizing about it? Wanting it was one thing – he needed her to fall for him so it’d be easier to manipulate her, and it’d be all the more satisfying once he ripped his family fortune out from underneath her – but the wistful desire he did not abide by. _Get a fucking grip, Ransom,_ he told himself, _eye on the prize_.

He went down to greet her once he was finally done. She perked up when the door swung open, her eyes the only bit of her that had retained that fiery glint. Otherwise, she looked pale, her hollow cheekbones and dark circles beneath her eyes showing how little she was sleeping. Her hair had grown greasy over the days of neglect, and she remained curled into herself to keep herself small and frail looking. He should’ve been happy about it. The more worn down she was, the easier it’d be to unthread the rest of her, the easier it’d be to then puppet her strings.

Strangely (and irritatingly), another part of him had been hoping the fire she’d produced over the last several weeks would grow. That her defiance might prove infallible, no matter what he tried. At this point, he felt like he might be content with either outcome, and that just wouldn’t do. His conflicting urges and desires were beginning to infuriate him. He couldn’t afford to be at war with himself when he was trying to instill that self-destructive conflict in Marta. He had to speed this along, and hopefully his next ploy would help with that. 

Silently, he bent before her and stuck the key into the lock for her cuffs. “What are you doing?” Marta asked, tone loaded with her suspicion. He didn’t answer. Icy eyes flickered to her expression, his own carefully neutral for a moment. Then, he smirked, lopsided and sly. His hand curled around her slender bicep, gripping heavily before he pulled her onto her feet. As he’d done each time he paraded her around, he pushed her along with that grip, both keeping her near and directing her like some kind of irreplaceable possession. 

Marta’s heart started pounding. “Where are you taking me?” she asked, voice more demanding. His eyes slanted toward her curiously, but still he didn’t speak as he directed her up one of the staircases. They went up to the third story before he finally halted them in front of one of the bedroom doors. They stood there, looking in on the strangely bright room. Compared to the rest of the antiquated house, this one had bright white sheets and curtains, gold fixtures on the dark wooden bedposts and dressers. A cream-colored rug covered the hardwood floor, and monochrome portraits hung on two out of the four walls.

The third had a domed window, the intricately sectioned frame of it now intersected by more bars. _Actual_ bars. Her dark eyes lingered on the bolted-in barrier for several moments before she glanced toward the room’s attached bathroom. The doorway, while partially open didn’t allow her to see whether the window inside was the same. She didn’t need to see it to suspect it had also been barricaded shut.

“You said you wouldn’t fall for me in a dungeon. So here you are,” Ransom told her by means of explanation. Marta’s contemplative stare returned to the bedroom window.

“This is still a dungeon,” she noted cleverly. True or not, he scoffed at her dramatics.

“It’s a proper room,” he defended, gesturing toward the fluffy bed. “Can let you pretend you’re a real person again, at least.” The way Marta looked at him for the lightly delivered insult had his expression flattening. It was the same offended glare she’d given him when he’d called her homeland ‘land of savages.’ “Oh, come on. I didn’t mean it like that. My dad’s the racist prick. I look down upon everyone equally,” he said with a lopsided smirk. Brows knitting, Marta dropped her gaze from his and shook her head.

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“Whatever,” he griped, rolling his eyes. He pushed her inside the room and caught the door handle instead. “There’s fresh towels and stuff in the bathroom. Go get cleaned up. I’ll bring up some food in a bit.” He shut the door, and Marta heard the lock click into place ominously. For once, she didn’t immediately look for a flaw or way out. She’d been locked up for days, without a means to properly clean herself. A shower sounded perfect, whether she liked it or not.

She moved into the bathroom, looking toward the high window to confirm it, too, had bars welded into the fixtures. Before the cold, creepy reality could sink in on her, she reached into the linen closet and grabbed a towel. She shut and locked the bathroom door – and she certainly thought with a fair bit of bitterness, _At least he’s kind enough to grant me that_ \- and turned toward the shower. Most of the bathrooms suited the house, with big porcelain bathtubs and sinks, strangely old-patterned wallpaper, and widely unused vanity stations. 

This one was like the rest of the room. Simpler, whitewashed walls and ceramic tiled floors. The sink and toilet were still heavy porcelain, but the shower itself was a glass-cased box in the center of the room, the spacious area pouring down into stone tiles that had a drain in the center. The bulky rain showerhead hissed when she turned the faucets on, steam already rising and making her clogged pores sing. She’d been considering giving this strange room to her sister when her family finally moved in, since its difference would suit her better than anyone else. 

What a fanciful, impossible dream that felt like now.

_I wonder if Harlan had this built like the dungeon, for some purpose in one of his stories,_ Marta thought, a ghostly smile quirking her lips as she thought about her friend. _I’ll have to read his books,_ she told herself as she stepped under the revitalizing spray. It was strange to realize she’d never actually read one of Harlan’s mysteries. She didn’t much like the genre, and after having lived through one, she didn’t _really_ feel any more appreciation for it. Her interest in his far more complicated home had her considering reading them, though. She missed him, and his work would be an obvious reflection of him. Besides, she’d likely need some understanding of his work to handle Blood Like Wine Publishing.

_If I ever get out of this,_ she reminded herself bleakly.

She washed her hair and skin vigorously, and when she finished, she grabbed the towel she’d hung on the rack attached to the shower door. Once she had it wrapped around her petite figure, she pushed the glass door open and stepped out onto the mat. Her toes curled before they touched to the tiled floor, already prepared (and dreading) the shock of cold once she raced across it. It was only when she’d re-entered the bedroom that she realized a terrible error.

The only clothes she had locked in the room with her were the dirty ones she’d been wearing. 

Her fingers clenched around the folded edges of her towel a little harder as she looked to the dressers. Just when she was about to check their drawers, did the door’s lock shift and startle her. Dark eyes widened as Ransom stepped into the room and froze, his own eyes noticeably blackening as he took in the sight of her. Wet black hair curled above her bare shoulders, the thin peach towel covering her figure giving him enough visibility of her elegant clavicle and slender legs to entice him. His throat went a little dry, and he didn’t at all try to hide how his gaze slowly trailed down her figure.

Marta stiffened. Her chest heaved on shallow breaths, the reality of her vulnerable position sinking in on her. “Did you bring any of my clothes up?” she asked quietly. Ransom’s expression schooled as best it could.

“Oops,” he murmured, his flat tone betraying how purposeful this may have been. The smirk that hooked the corner of his lip a moment later confirmed it. Lips thinning, Marta’s gaze dared to trail toward the bathroom. She’d rather be back in her dirty clothes than in a towel before Ransom. She dared not move though, and before she could think of a plan, he sighed and said, “Here.” 

She glanced toward him, watching as he set down the plate she hadn’t noticed at first. He doubled back to grab the second he’d set on a table outside the door when he had unlocked her room, and set that down on the desk space near him as well. Once his hands were free, and Marta eyed the plates full of eggs, bacon, and toast hungrily, she found that hungry stare shifting to Ransom when he pulled his sweater off, unprompted. She told herself the drool pooling in her mouth was due to the smell of delicious food, but her suddenly queasy stomach knew better. 

Still, after a brief moment of ogling his cut muscles, Marta’s glare managed to harden with further suspicion. He tossed his sweater at her, and she caught it with a limp hand. Despite its wear, the olive wool was surprisingly soft. She massaged her fingers into it for a moment, before her eyes narrowed on him. “What?” Ransom demanded, “I only wore it for like an hour or two.” Just enough time for his scent to sink into it. Heady and spicy, like a fireplace that had been doused in cinnamon. Lashes fluttering, she found herself taken aback by how much she wanted to bury her nose in the fabric.

Ransom smirked, his blue eyes already glinting in triumph. Marta glowered at him, harder still when he did nothing but stare at her, muscles discreetly flexed for show. “I need my own clothes. Not the shirt you’re wearing,” she muttered. 

“If you wear it, I’ll see if I can go find you a pair of your sweats,” he teased instead. He almost laughed at the incredulity she gaped at him with. She hesitated, clutching her towel tightly as she twisted the sweater around her other hand. A chill was seeping into her skin, and not just from Ransom. The official start of winter was fast approaching, and her wet hair didn’t help warm her at all. Stiffly, she twisted away from him to enter the bathroom. When the door shut so she could pull the sweater over her head, Ransom headed downstairs to grab a pair of her leggings off the laundry pile that still sat in the living room.

Once he returned upstairs, he once again found himself freezing at the sight of her. She _swam_ in his sweater, the knitted material caving between her perky breasts where it blocked off the rest of her figure. Those legs though, shapely and perfectly smooth, were peeking out from beneath the hem, which skirted at her mid-thighs, even with her tugging on it to try and cover more. He suddenly felt starved, his brain turning grossly primitive when he reveled in the fact that _his_ sweater covered her otherwise bare figure.

_Maybe Marta’s right. Maybe I am a savage,_ he thought stupidly, irate with himself. It flattened his expression as he shut the bedroom door and tossed her leggings to her. She fumbled with them and hastily tugged them up each leg, her own expression a little darker than before. “You couldn’t have put on another sweater?” she accused him, perking his interest.

“Why? Am I distracting you?” he wondered, grinning wolfishly at the thought. She rolled her eyes and ignored him, though her cheeks had grown rosy and hot. He watched her touch her fingers to one side of her face curiously. She couldn’t answer him, not wanting to face the truth any more than she had the intensity of the desire she’d seen in his eyes. Her heart still pounded from it, though what terrified her more than the look itself had been the cocktail of emotions it had flipped through her stomach. 

Since when did fear live alongside of yearning?

Clearing her throat, she smoothed her fingers over her lips. It was a mistake. The too-long-for-her sleeve overlapped her hand, and let his alluring scent invade her nose. She shifted nervously, approaching the plates of food still sitting on the desk. “Where did this come from?” she asked, desperate for something else to focus on.

“I made it.”

“Really?” She hadn’t meant to sound so surprised, but… well, “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Who the fuck else is gonna feed me?” Ransom snapped, unexpectedly offended. “I’m not useless.” Marta’s lips parted, but for a second, she didn’t know what to say. The defensive comment seemed so… vulnerable. She didn’t know what to make of that.

“I… don’t know,” she murmured eventually, the heat lingering on her cheeks. She collected one of the plates and shuffled away, choosing to eat over the low countertop of the dresser instead of near Ransom. He took a seat at the desk to enjoy his own breakfast. Marta glanced toward him and huffed finally, still finding this development to be unfathomable. “I would’ve expected you to have servants to do all the cooking and cleaning for you.”

He paused in eating a strip of bacon. Twisting around in his seat, he braced one arm against the back of the chair, and the other against the desk so he could keep his glare on Marta easier. 

“For the record… servant was _your_ word choice, not mine. I’ve never called the help servants, and I don’t have any staff working at my place because I’ve never much liked people who just do what they’re told,” he corrected, his tone hard enough to make Marta flush with embarrassment and wonder what the hell he was hiding behind the pointed argument. Her brows furrowed a little as she glared down at her own plate and contemplatively took a bite of her toast.

“That’s surprising,” she finally dared to say.

“Excuse me?” Ransom leaned his ear nearer to her in a hostile manner, readying for a fight. Marta eyed him cautiously, her lips still subtly frowning.

“That you don’t like people who do what they’re told.”

“Why? People like that are boring.”

“Like the name ‘Hugh’?” Marta tried to guess. Ransom’s eyes turned so furiously cold, she knew she’d just treaded out onto thin ice. Swallowing nervously, she dropped her gaze back to her plate and mentally berated herself. Why was she curious about his strange stipulations and opinions anyway? He was a psychopathic killer who was keeping her prisoner in her own home! That very fact had her standing there stiffly, petrified he might lash out for her inquiries. At the same time, she couldn’t help suspecting there was something here… something integral.

They ate in silence for several minutes, the crunch of bacon and toast the only sound in the room. “This-“ Marta had to pause to clear her throat, before she tried again, “this is good.” Ransom glanced toward her, seemingly surprised by the unprompted compliment.

“Thanks,” he muttered, his mood still murky. He finished his plate, and approached Marta’s as she finished her food. She instinctively shuffled back several steps to keep space between them, now that she had the freedom to try. He ignored it as he collected her plate beneath his own. “I’ll bring up some of your clothes in a bit,” he told her, before he left the room and locked it behind him. For the life of her, Marta couldn’t explain why her heart sunk into her stomach with such disappointment.


	9. Tensions On Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their strange arrangement takes an interesting turn, but for better or worse, who knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter finally earns this story its explicit rating, at least somewhat. Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Also, thanks so much for all the support/feedback. It gives me life - Happy New Year!

_The chains rattled. They snagged her wrists as she tried to escape. No, that wasn’t it. Why would she try to escape this? She gasped, back arching as tingling pleasure overwhelmed her. Fingers caressed up her sides, skin on skin. Her nerves lit ablaze beneath the soothing touch, and she glanced down to see where it came from. Strong fingers smoothed over her curves, the thick arms they were attached to familiar. Marta felt her mouth watering as her desirous gaze raked over broad shoulders and cut abs._

_Ransom’s blue eyes glinted as he flexed, egging a reaction from her before his sinful lips befell her flesh. He mouthed at her ribs, tongue wetting the area he subsequently suckled. She cried out, her body trembling as he chuckled above the mark he left behind. His silver tongue slicked up the curve of her pert breast, before he swirled it around the darker peak. He sucked her nipple erect before scraping his teeth against the hardened nub, just to make her squirm._

_Marta panted, wrists jerking against the chains again. The restriction had her hips bucking harder, eager for him to sink something - **anything** \- into her slick folds. He licked his lips, eager for the same. Perching above her, his lips crushed to her own as deft fingers skirted up her inner thighs. She gasped, knees jerking apart a little farther in anticipation. As he sunk into her wet center up to his second knuckle, she choked on a moan._

_He pumped into her slowly, torturously, before letting a second finger slip into her. Their tongues swirled together as her juices slicked his fingers, his thumb pad quickly stroking up her clit. It throbbed immediately as his fingers shoved into her wholly, eliciting a strangled cry from her. She bucked again, her center pulsing once his thumb circled her sensitive clit incessantly. “Don’t come until I tell you to,” he growled, demanding. His other hand tugged on the chains binding her down, reminding her of who possessed her. It had her muscles threatening to tremble, but his heady breath ghosting against her cheek stole her own away._

_“Please,” she breathed, desperate and unfocused as her knees tried to press together to try and prevent a deluge that wouldn’t be stopped._

_“Say it again,” he purred, fingers sliding faster through her tight, wet walls. He groaned, barely audible, at the way she whimpered. Her heart skipped a beat, body writhing beneath his mercy, before she nearly screamed as he suckled her opposite nipple between his teeth harshly and-_

Marta’s eyes snapped open in both confusion and shock, the mewl she’d squeaked out barely registering in her own mind. She stared at the wall, breath shallow and uncertain as the dream lingered in her mind… and between her legs. Shifting made her distinctly aware of how wet she was. Her throat felt dry, and her chest tight. Had she just-

Oh, _God. Please have mercy._

“Sleep well?” Marta nearly startled out of her skin hearing Ransom’s infuriatingly amused tone. She jerked her head up from the pillow to spot him, standing in the doorway. He had a smirk on his face, his blue eyes slightly dilated with intrigue. And they weren’t… quite focused on her face.

Glancing down, she flushed. Her thin nightshirt had two distinctive peaks standing at attention, and she quickly dragged the sheet up to further hide her chest. Ransom’s smirk lingered as his gaze finally lifted to hers, and Marta had a moment of panic wondering, _Did I – did he – I didn’t moan in my sleep, did I?!_ The glint in Ransom’s eager stare had her stomach flipping, but he kept his casual stance. “Once you’ve…” his eyes roved over her figure, as if he could see beneath the covers, “cleaned up, I need you to do a favor for me and handle your dogs.”

His smirk and hungry stare left no question that he knew something. Marta ignored her still jittery veins to focus on what mattered. “Have you left them outside this whole time?!” she barked.

“Obviously.”

“Honestly, Ransom! No wonder they don’t like you.”

“I left them out there _because_ they don’t like me,” he corrected irritably. “At least I’ve fed them and shit.”

“It’s freezing out there!”

“Well, that’s why I need your help.” He’d read in a psychology article once that asking people for help or favors tricked their brain into liking you more. He decided to test that theory now since the room was already clearly working. She finally yawned and rubbed one of her sleepy eyes, more relaxed than he’d seen since he invaded her life. As her hand fell back toward the bed, she nodded absently.

“Yeah. Alright.” She shifted, and then seemed to hesitate to lift. She had a horrible feeling a telling spot had soaked into her pajama pants. Glancing toward Ransom, she remained immobile and asked, “Are you going to hover there all day?” Pursing his lips, he shrugged before offering her another lazy smirk.

“Do you always moan in your sleep?” he taunted back, just to watch her blanch. His grin grew, but he rolled out of the doorway and shut it behind him, giving her the privacy she needed to process her humiliating wake up call. She slipped into the bathroom, grimacing a little as the wetness trailed down her inner thigh. 

By the time she managed to take a quick shower and dress (thankfully in her _own_ sweater and a pair of jeans), Ransom returned. He carried a plate with half a bagel on it, cream cheese and jam spread atop it. He set it down at the desk for her, claiming, “I didn’t want to finish my breakfast,” as his explanation. She gave him a flat look.

“Giving me your scraps now?”

“Aren’t you used to taking handouts from my family?” he taunted her, before his eyes narrowed. Before she could call him a hypocrite, he wondered, “Or is it the opposite now? Living in the castle with all the goods and power, you expect me to serve you full course meals every day now?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Marta snapped, her cheeks flushing at the insinuation. She stepped forward, her own eyes narrowing on the ‘meal’ he’d brought her. “Cream cheese… and jelly?”

“Jam. Haven’t you ever tried it?” Marta shook her head, prompting Ransom to wave his hand and say, “Well go on. Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, Princess.”

“I’m not a princess,” Marta griped, but she picked up the bagel and took a bite. Ransom watched her chew it with muted curiosity, her thoughtful expression eventually turning toward him. “It’s good… for a strange combination,” she admitted slowly. Ransom brought a hand up to set against his heart in a mockingly wounded fashion.

“That was almost an insult. I’m impressed,” he drawled facetiously, causing Marta to pout at him. He had the abrupt urge to bite her protruding bottom lip, so massaged his tongue against one of his canines to try and stifle the urge.

“I need to check my email,” Marta said a moment later, looking up at him expectantly, like she could make such a demand. Ransom’s brows lifted, and for a moment, he really was impressed. “My sister – if she were to reach out while I’m ‘away’, it would be through that.” He considered it for a moment, before he tipped his head to the side in acknowledgment.

“Alright. After the dogs, you can check.” Once Marta finished her half of the bagel, they headed downstairs. Ransom lingered near her as usual, but his hands remained stuffed in his own pockets. It felt strange after the last week and change, and Marta’s dark eyes kept flickering in his direction. Her heart pounded with each step, muscles ready to coil and hair standing on end with anticipation. Ransom feigned ignorance, but internally he was smirking gleefully at her attentiveness.

They stepped onto the back porch, a thicker, wool sweater hugged around Marta’s slender frame. Ransom had on his own beige coat, but he stood nearer to the door, even as Marta walked toward the edge of the deck. She paused before the stairs as the dogs barked and rushed up to her. Hands jerking out, she encompassed both of their thick coats. “Ai, so cold,” she murmured, frowning as she massaged her fingertips into their shoulders and tried to quiet them from their excitable jumping. As they settled to sniff her shoes, she glanced over her shoulder toward Ransom and frowned.

“Thinking of trying to get them to attack me?” Ransom asked her.

“Would you like that?” Marta wondered, puzzled by the strange lightness to his voice.

“It’d give me a reason to get rid of them.”

“You could’ve done that at any point. You haven’t yet,” Marta seemed to realize, scrutinizing him more closely as she asked, “why?” He stared at her, vacant and unmoving. Her frown deepened, and she shifted when the leer grew too uncomfortable for her to hold. “Maybe if you didn’t wear your hostility like an armor, they’d like you better,” she finally griped at him. His brows lifted in amazement, but she twisted away from his enigmatic expression to darkly add, “But then, maybe it isn’t possible anymore, now that you’re a murderer.”

Silence dragged on for a few moments before Ransom wondered, “Are we still talking about the dogs here?” It was Marta’s turn to refuse to answer. A lopsided smirk graced Ransom’s lips.

“We can use the library and sitting room to bring them inside. It’ll give them some room, but close them off from you,” she suggested instead.

“Okay.” He opened the door and stepped aside. “Get to it,” he encouraged. The urge to run twitched in Marta’s muscles, but she forced herself to turn around and lead the dogs inside. They growled at Ransom as they passed by, prompting the easily agitated man to bark, “Shut up!”

“Don’t yell at them,” Marta chastised, shushing at them and tugging on one of the shepherds’ collars to encourage him forward.

“They started it,” Ransom defended. She rolled her eyes at how childish he sounded, but didn’t respond as she encouraged them toward the library. She shut one door behind her once she entered, puffing out a breath as she pet the dogs gratefully. She was familiar with them, but she’d never owned her own dogs before, which made her incredibly grateful any time she successfully did anything with them. After petting them a few moments longer, she muttered a quiet apology to them both for what she was about to do. She slipped out the library’s second door, into the reading room attached on the other side. The dogs tried to follow her, so she skipped out the door and shut it behind her, grimacing a little as they barked unhappily.

“They’re not going to keep it up, are they?” Ransom asked from behind her, startling Marta enough that she gasped. Hands still planted against the wooden door, she twisted enough to glare over her shoulder at him.

“Well, this _is_ their house. They’re not used to being restricted from it.”

“Hmm. I suppose that’s true.” His thoughtfulness disappeared as he focused on Marta entirely. “Do you want to check your email now?”

“Oh, yes,” she agreed, finally pushing away from the door to follow him. They moved into the living room, where Ransom’s laptop had joined Marta’s on the coffee table. She honed in on her own, bowing forward as she reached for it. It kept her from realizing how close Ransom followed her until it was too late, and his hands clamped down over her hips. She yipped as he twisted them, plopping himself down into a seat on the couch before she could try. The grip he had on her hips he then used to drag her into a seat atop his lap.

She stiffened and warned, “Ransom-“

“This way, I can keep an eye on exactly what you’re up to,” he murmured, his torso pressing forward to connect his chest with her back when she refused to ease. Her lips parted as his hands dared to smooth over her left thigh and up her right side, before his hips bucked to help nudge her into a more comfortable seat for them both. One that had her denim-clad ass pressing straight over his groin. The weight of his hands and the flex of his muscles had her dream rushing back to her. 

Heat spread through her until she blushed. Breath rattling, she pinched her eyes shut as his spicy scent invaded her nose. When she still refused to unfreeze, his lips tipped near her ear and he warned, “It’s either this, or you don’t get to check.” Shifting slightly, she pried her eyes open and glanced over her shoulder at him, his piercing blue eyes settled on her flushed face. He looked entranced, and her throat suddenly went dry as she felt his breath ghost across her face.

 _No, no, no!_ She abruptly twisted around and opened her laptop, doing her best to ignore the heat radiating off his palms as she logged into her account. For the most part, he didn’t move, save for a simple flex of his fingers that made her painfully aware of where they curved toward her inner thigh. His other slid up toward her ribs, _beneath_ her wool sweater, leaving the thin cotton long-sleeved shirt she wore the only thing keeping his skin from hers.

He could feel her heart pounding against his palm. Wondering why (and hoping for the best), he tipped his head forward to peer past her shoulder, his cheek setting against her arm as he watched. He felt her tense, and watched her fingers pause over the keyboard, but he ignored it until she slowly went back to her task. She could hardly focus on it, though. The way he held her, and nuzzled his cheek against the edge of her shoulder felt almost intimate. She didn’t know what the hell he was doing, and couldn’t figure out if she felt more afraid… or aroused.

 _He’s playing a game with you,_ she reminded herself. And she abruptly realized it was working.

Trying not to hate herself, she focused on checking her emails. Most were junk, but she did have a check in with Alice, and Ransom watched her type out a generic ‘all’s well, don’t know when I’ll be back yet, love you,’ email. Once it sent, Ransom’s gaze flickered toward her face. She wouldn’t meet his gaze again, so he wrapped his arm around her waist and grabbed her computer with his opposite hand. “Hey!” she protested, as he pushed her device onto the coffee table. Once her lap was free, he shifted her over his own, twisting her body toward his until her hands planted against his shoulders to stop him.

Finally, their eyes met again, both her legs twisted over the side of his right leg. He had one hand there to keep her seated, while his other snaked back up to rest against her ribcage. His smirked lazily, and she cursed him in her head for how charming he looked. His eyes glinted mirthfully, and almost softly as he tilted his chin up. She pushed at his shoulders to keep him where he was. “Tell me what you dreamed about this morning,” he taunted finally, hands eagerly binding around her.

She couldn’t lie.

Lips parting, her breath hitched and her blush darkened as she stared into his impossibly captivating eyes. “No,” she choked, which only broadened his smirk.

“It wasn’t about me, was it?”

“Ransom-“ she pleaded, before she froze from how he twitched beneath her. She suddenly felt potently aware of the thick, hard bulge pressing against the back of her thigh.

“I like the way you say my name,” he murmured huskily. His hand lifted from her knee to grip the edges of her ebony hair. He tugged briefly before his fingers curled at the edge of her jaw and the back of her neck, securing her face a little nearer to his. Marta’s breath rattled, her arms trembling as she started to lose her will to hold him at bay. Her heart felt ready to stop, will teetering on a knife’s edge between resisting and giving in. He leaned closer, inch by inch, unwilling to stop so long as her hands kept their grip feeble at his shoulders. 

When their breaths mingled again, time felt ready to stop until the unmistakable crash of glass shattered them both out of their revere.

Marta gasped and jolted in Ransom’s arms. He jerked to attention, bundling Marta up in his grasp to lift her from his lap. Another distinct crack and hiss of glass breaking echoed from another part of the house, before a third crashed close enough to them for Ransom to realize windows were the culprit. And something heavy thudded to the ground after it.

He loped forward through the house, into the dining room two rooms over, where a window was busted in, and a Molotov cocktail lay burning against the wooden ground. “Shit,” he snapped, surging toward the kitchen to grab a dishtowel as Marta walked into the dining room and let out a shriek. He returned quickly and smothered the flame with the thick rag, his fingers tapping against it and retracting from the heat. He picked up the bottle once it was out, which thankfully hadn’t broken. _Here._

“We need to find if there are others. There’s a fire extinguisher under the kitchen sink,” Ransom rambled, mostly to himself. He was already up and returning toward the kitchen while Marta’s attention drifted elsewhere.

“The dogs,” she breathed, rushing for the study at their high-pitched, ravenous barking. _That’s right,_ Ransom thought, attention perking instantly. The dogs were in. Marta opened the library door and doubled back almost immediately, her arm coming up to smother her mouth with her sleeve as smoke overwhelmed her. She coughed, dark, tearing eyes taking in the sight of one of Harlan’s old desk encased in flames, the window just behind it broken in. The dogs raced out, yipping and whimpering as they escaped the hazardous room.

Ransom whistled sharply for them, perhaps the _only_ time he’d called to them. The two mighty shepherds came running, barreling straight for him, and the back door he was already wedged against. He opened it the second they lined up, hissing the words, “Sicc’em,” to the beasts, despite how he wasn’t sure they understood. They raced outside anyway, barking and snarling worse than they ever had at him. He tipped his head outside, straining to see a perpetrator. All he managed to glimpse was the lapel of a dark jacket, before he was forced to rush elsewhere snarling cusses under his breath.

He raced for the library, bypassing Marta to direct the hose of the fire extinguisher at the incinerating desk. It was a bit of a gamble, but they didn’t have other options without calling the damn fire department (and risk losing the house), so he let the foggy spray flow. It took a few moments, but the fire thankfully petered out instead of anything worse. He puffed out a relieved breath before he told Marta, “We need to find where the third window crashed.”

“I heard a fourth when I came to get the dogs.”

“Fuck. Fine, let’s go.” She didn’t think to disobey. Her legs were shaking, and her mind firing a mile a minute as she trailed Ransom through the home in search of more fire. _Fire._ Someone was trying to burn her damn house down now! She didn’t understand, and threatened to grow a little hysterical as they found a third bottle bomb, thankfully once again unbroken. It took nothing more than a spurt from the fire extinguisher to put it out. The fourth had thankfully petered out on its own, the flammable rag having not soaked enough before it was thrown through the window.

“Fucking morons,” Ransom cussed as he plucked up the last bottle and twisted it in his hand. Really, he was more disgusted with the poor execution than the attempt, but he kept that thought to himself considering Marta was still noticeably shaking beside him.

“Who would do this?” she breathed, still covering her mouth with her hand from shock. Her throat burned from the smoke, and her eyes stung. Ransom chuckled. 

“From my family? Take your pick.” Marta looked at him with appall, which just had him glowering at her. “After all this, you can’t think I’m the only monster in this family.”

“Beast,” she corrected, earning a puzzled look from Ransom. Her lips parted, and she briefly questioned her own sanity, before she waved her hand at him and reminded, “I called you a beast.”

“…. _Whatever_. Point is, I’ll bet you a million bucks one of my shit relatives is behind this.” He tipped his head toward the broken window to peer outside, a wolfish smile creeping onto his face as his icy eyes slanted toward Marta. “Wanna go see if the dogs caught anything?” Marta shook her head senselessly as her heart finally kick-started back into gear. _This is crazy,_ she thought, but then… _Maybe it’s better to have a beast on my side to fight all the other monsters away._


	10. The Tides Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know. Ransom's smart but crazy, Marta's confused af. It's a good time.
> 
> These two are still taking me for a crazy ride, so I hope you enjoy :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS. I know there have been a couple mild hints so far, but racism has now been added to the tag/warnings because there's a distinct mention in this chapter, and there'll likely be a couple more coming in future chapters. Damn Thrombeys.

“What the fuck is the point of having these dogs if they don’t do shit?” Ransom snapped, frustrated there wasn’t some bloodied up punk laid out on the ground. At his fury, the shepherds snarled and leapt up toward him. He jerked back, muscles coiling in preparation when Marta stepped before him and held her gloved hand up. 

“No,” she said. Her voice wavered, so they didn’t listen at first. They just barked and tried to leap up again, prompting her to more aggravatingly snap, “No!” The dogs stilled. She puffed out a relieved breath before waggling her finger and commanding, “Sit.” They both sat on their haunches in sync with one another, which brought a smile to Marta’s face. “See? All they need is a strong hand and some respect to behave.”

The words hit her like a ton of bricks.

Lips parting, she shifted around to look up at Ransom, whom despite his towering figure and intimidating musculature, clung to her sleeve with a vice grip and kept himself stilled behind her… like _she_ was some kind of protector. His narrowed eyes were focused on the dogs, his unnerved mistrust prevailing with how eerily still they sat. Their wide chocolate eyes remained focused on Marta, but he finally realized her doe eyes were on him.

“What?” he asked, lip curling peculiarly. She gaped at him, but couldn’t find her voice as his words came rushing back to her.

_Tame me, before I break you._

She twisted around and looked down at the dogs, her eyes glazing over as she reflected on the gist of his game. He wanted to see which one of them could influence the other more, which meant… she had to have influence over him in the first place. She didn’t answer his question. She couldn’t. She was too busy wondering if her train of thought was a sign of madness. Shaking her head, she opted to change the subject and muttered, “Let’s see if we can’t warm you up to each other, hm?”

She smiled at the dogs, and wandered off to look for something to throw for them. It was easy enough to find one of the balls, despite how vast the backyard was. She picked it up and tossed it, watching both dogs run for it. Her smile lingered, even as she returned to Ransom’s side and waited. He looked at her like she’d grown a second head, and drew back a little when the dogs came bounding up to her. She took the ball from one’s mouth and held it out for Ransom.

“Excuse me?” he asked, leering at her incredulously, and like he might think her an idiot. She stared at him expectantly and waved the ball toward him.

“Play. Haven’t you ever played before?”

“Not fetch.”

“Oh, don’t say that. You fetch my clothes and food all the time,” Marta jabbed before she could think better of it. Ransom’s eyes widened, his brows lifting high on his head. The smile that had been growing across her lips faltered when his disbelieving stare lingered, but he finally scoffed and accepted the ball from her. 

“Keep talking, and I won’t give you shit anymore,” he warned, but sounded deceptively light as he craned his arm back. The ball skyrocketed once he threw it, soaring farther and faster than Marta could ever hope to throw it. The dogs raced off, yipping happily as they enjoyed the expanse of their land. Marta smiled, watching the dogs race over one another and all around to try and catch the ball. Ransom’s eyes turned down toward her, curiosity brightening his crystal gaze. “You think it’s smart? Helping the dogs warm up to me.”

“I’d rather they like you than you try to harm them because they’re an _inconvenience_.”

“Hmm.” The dogs finally raced back, panting and prancing. They circled Marta and Ransom, before one dropped the ball at their feet.

“Pick it up,” Marta encouraged.

“You pick it up!”

“Don’t be a baby,” she chided, and again, Ransom found himself accosted.

“Is this your master plan, then? Have me bend over so their chompers are at my face?” he jibed irritably, eyes narrowing suspiciously. Marta almost laughed, but shook her head at him instead. What was her life becoming, that she could so easily play with the dogs after someone had tried to burn her house down? That she could banter with a murderer and not feel utterly terrorized or traitorous?

Her stomach felt a little sick thinking that, but for a second, it had felt like she was with Harlan again.

Looking away, she surveyed the grounds while Ransom finally quashed his own reservations and picked up the ball. One of the dogs tried to rush him, which had him barking, “Hey – hey!” Her jerked back up, and fired the ball off in the opposite direction. Blowing out an exasperated breath, he joined Marta in her search and muttered, “Alright… let’s go see if there’s anything we can find.” They walked together across the property, and Marta told herself the only reason she played along was because she didn’t know who had done this, or if they still lingered near. 

It was true, though. The more she thought about it, the more nervous she grew. Breaths growing labored, she swallowed audibly enough that Ransom told her to, “Relax. Anyone’s still lurking, I’ll take care of them.”

“That’s not a comfort.”

“Why not?” He glanced toward her with a quirked brow, and she… couldn’t answer. Not at first, not with part of her strangely feeling better he was there with her at all. What if she’d been alone? What it Mama and Alice had been in the house instead? All things considered, having him as a companion wasn't the worst thing in the present situation. 

“Murder is never a comfort,” she finally managed to say, shaking her head.

“Who said anything about murder?” Ransom griped, before rolling his eyes. “Kill one person, and suddenly that’s all that’s on my mind?”

“In my book, you’re guilty of two, and one attempt.”

“Harsh.” They’d reached the stone fence and the little wooden gate out to the wooded expanse of the property. Ransom stepped up to it and leaned over to see the dirt-laden path beyond the fence. “Shit,” he cussed, noting the slender tire tracks that had imprinted into the dirt.

“What is it?” she asked, tipping forward to search with him.

“Bike tracks.” And whoever had fled on it, had likely rode past his car, which was hidden in the woods to prevent people from knowing he was at the mansion. Double shit.

“But who-“

“My bet’s on Jacob.”

“Jacob?! No. He wouldn’t-“

“He’s a fucking Nazi, Marta. And you’re the dirty little Mexican that took his family’s fortune,” Ransom said. Marta blanched, but before she could lash out at him, he held a finger up and swiftly added, “I’m speaking in what’d likely be _his_ words, not mine. The twit probably just figured out what it all really meant. Guarantee Walt hasn’t shut up about it, so Jacob’d figure, ‘if we can’t have it, the bitch can’t have it either’. It’d make sense why the Molotov’s were so piss poor, anyway. Kid’s useless.”

It was a compelling story, one Ransom seemed sold on already. He twisted around to march away when Marta had a far darker thought. “And how do I know this wasn’t just you?” she asked. Ransom whipped around, his brows lifted and stare boring into her. She fidgeted, but didn’t back down as she pointed out, “This is what you do. Cause chaos to play the hero.”

“How _truly_ diabolical of you, Marta,” Ransom jested, though for a moment he looked impressed. “So I, what? Hired someone to bomb the house while we were getting a little too close and personal? Make you feel a little more endeared to me after I saved the day…” he trailed off to consider it, and pursed his lips. Tipping his head in an appraising sort of manner, he admitted, “Gotta admit, that plan doesn’t sound half bad. And it _does_ sound like me.” His hand touched to his chest as he mockingly said, “I’m so touched you’re taking a spin inside my head.”

Despite the ridicule, she could tell he really was pleased, and it _infuriated_ her – how he made _her_ sound like the bad guy. Marta’s fist balled at her side. She’d never wanted to hit someone before, but she wanted to launch her hand at him, sock him straight in his pretty, infuriating face. 

_This is exactly what he wants_ , she realized. He wanted for her to think like him, act like him, _be_ like him. He wanted to prove she wasn’t an angel, as he’d put it, twist her up and make her just like the Thrombeys. The vicious smile he offered her made her feel like that mouse again, looking down the cat’s maw before it was all over.

He was winning the game, and he knew it.

“I liked you better when you ignored me,” Marta growled, forcing her fist to unclench. _Play the game your way,_ she reminded herself, suddenly aching for Benoit and his unwavering faith in her good heart.

“Story of my life,” Ransom muttered, rolling his eyes. His hand clamped down around her wrist then, effectively cutting off any chance of escape. It was only then she realized she hadn’t been thinking about escaping in the least. A lump formed in her throat, heart hammering as she berated herself and once again questioned her sanity. Ransom was unperturbed as he dragged her along, back toward the house and spoke, “Jacob or not, whoever it was probably got the balls to try something after the dogs came in. We should maybe think about leaving them out, or upping your security.” 

“Security-!” Marta breathed, eyes widening as she perked up. Ransom paused, glancing back at her before he rolled his eyes.

“If you think I didn’t think to send that porker in the gatehouse a memo he had a few weeks off for the holidays while you were out of the country, you’ve lost your damn mind.”

“Why would he believe that?”

“I dunno, because he’s a dumb fuck and can barely read as it is.”

“Don’t say that.”

“You’re exhausting,” Ransom sighed, exasperated. “Do you ever get tired of being nice?”

“Do you ever get tired of being an asshole?” she quipped back. They’d reached the deck, and a pit formed in Marta’s stomach as Ransom started to climb the stairs. For a second, she had an awfully vivid picture in her head of yanking back on their connected arms, him tumbling down the stairs and cracking his head against the ground. A good kick to the face might have him out, or at least buy her enough time to successfully make a run for it. 

Her lips parted, chest heaving as the window of opportunity arose once their arms grew taut between one another from her lack of movement. Her muscles tensed.

And then the dogs ran up the steps past them.

If she wasn’t successful, or the dogs sensed her hysteria and decided to help anyway, they’d attack him. He’d kill them. She knew he would. Whether or not they were successful in slowing him down and protecting her, Ransom would fight tooth and nail with them until they were dead. She couldn’t bear the thought, and as she followed him up the steps with that lump still lodged in her throat, she wondered if that’s why he was keeping them around at all. Another point of control to keep her playing his game.

She felt guilty for the violent thoughts a moment later anyway, so gave up the pursuit of freedom for the time being. They headed inside, and into the library once the door was safely locked again. Marta looked around, her gaze settling on the charred wood and singed floor. A couple of the books on the nearest shelf had suffered damage, and everything in the desk would be lost. The room itself still smelled horribly of smoke. She covered her mouth with her now freed hand and whispered, “All this damage.”

“It’s fine. All his work and first editions are in his office and the private study he has upstairs. The desk can be replaced,” Ransom muttered, shaking his head. His lip curled a little as he took in the blackened damage, but he looked to the rest of the room and added, “I always found this room – fuck, the whole damn place – tacky.” He grimaced a little and shook his head, like the place gave him the creeps. Marta stared at him, blinked uncertainly, and then glanced away… straight to the wheel of knives resting centerfold in the room.

Ransom noticed it, too. 

He let out a breathy laugh as he approached it, his finger flicking at the steel rim. “Bet you’re happy this thing survived,” he drawled facetiously. His vivid stare fell on her, his fingers remaining hooked around the wheel. Without breaking eye contact, he moved his hand, wrapped his fingers around one of the knives, and pulled it from its resting place. The metal sang as it slid against its holding. He lowered it at his side as he stepped toward Marta, watching as her chest heaved. Tears welled into her eyes as she remembered that fateful moment, but she didn’t run. She shifted nervously and stared him dead in the eye.

Curiosity glinted in his own as he held the knife out, hilt toward her and asked, “Wanna play a round of ‘is it a prop, or is it real’?” 

“What?” Her brows knit, head jerking back a little as he calmly held the knife out for her to take. She shook her head, and turned her appalled expression down to the blade. She took it from him, and he lowered his hand while he leaned nearer to her, neck jutted out and face close enough that she jerked her head back a little again. His breath was cool and calm, gaze watchful as he waited to see what she’d do. Swallowing thickly, she twisted the knife between her fingertips before she met his gaze. “I’m not capable of murder. I don’t even know how to live with what I did do.”

“Which is a whole long of nothing,” he reminded her. Her tears welled higher, glazing her pretty, dark eyes.

“But I should’ve stopped him! I shouldn’t have let him talk me into that crazy plan of his. My fear kept me from helping him, and I have to live with knowing I didn’t do everything I could to save him – that I _could have_ saved him the whole time!”

“He never would’ve let you, once his mind was made up,” Ransom murmured quietly. She finally snapped, and her hands clapped against his chest before she’d realized it. He jerked back solely from the shock of her ferocity, brows lifting toward his hairline. The knife had thankfully hit him on its flattened side, but his gaze dropped toward it as Marta’s fist trembled around the hilt. 

“He never would’ve _had_ to if you hadn’t switched his medications,” she barked at him. He rolled his eyes, and she scoffed in disbelief. “Do you even know what remorse _is_ , Ransom?” His lips thinned together, expression growing stony as he remained deathly quiet and clenched his jaw. Icy eyes flickered toward the knife again, which had Marta’s eyes rolling as she tossed it toward the nearest chair. "I'm not playing your game, whatever the fuck it is you're trying to prove right now," she snapped. It didn't matter anyway. The blade dipped into the hilt a little once it popped off the cushion, a gentle squeak filling the silence.

Prop.

His gaze lingered on it for several moments, the silence thick and deafening between them. “I regret trying to stab you,” Ransom admitted quietly, his sharp eyes finally meeting Marta’s gaze once again. She didn’t know what to do with that, so stared at him for a long time.

“Why?” she finally asked.

“Fuck, Marta, I don’t know!” He moved for her again, this time without the bluster of intimidation. She still took a stammering breath, but she didn’t flinch away as he brought his hand up to cup her jaw, gentle all things considered. His smoky scent seemed amplified by the charred room, and she fought not to swoon. Heat radiated from him in waves, and she felt her cheeks heating swiftly beneath the fluttering caress of his fingertips. Her skin started to tingle while he searched her dark eyes for several moments. 

“At first I thought it was just because I got caught, you know? Wasted my breath, made shit worse for myself,” he murmured. She tried to move away, but he gripped her arm to keep her close. The hand dancing along her jaw reverently wrapped beneath her chin to hold her attention stark with his. “But then I thought of that look you gave me. Kinda like the one you’re giving me now,” he huffed, smirking ruefully. “And I couldn’t get it out of my head.” 

His leer grew a little colder then, and his fingers trembled against her. She tensed uncertainly while he seemed to struggle with himself. “I hated that look, and I hate that I care… but here I am, regretting that I made you afraid of me.” He chuffed derisively, which had her brows furrowing. 

“You have a funny way of showing it,” she pointed out, her bottom lip protruding ever so slightly. His hooded eyes slanted toward it and again, he found his tongue briefly pressing into his own canine. With his lips slightly parted, Marta could see the sly motion, his tongue partially licking along the corner of his upper lip in the process. Flashes of her dream, of his tongue swirling her nipple made her hair stand on end.

“You haven’t really given me a chance to show you anything else,” he told her, his voice a low rumble. Goosebumps followed the prickling of her hairs, and a labored breath sucked through her parted lips until Ransom crushed them in a kiss. Despite the heavy pressure, his lips were soft and pliant, encasing her lips in a kiss so sinfully sweet her knees went weak. He felt her weight give, so moved his hand from her arm to her lower back. His fingers snaked beneath her layers of clothing to skim up her smooth olive flesh. 

She shivered, and the quiet gasp that involuntarily left her allowed his tongue to dip past her lips and properly taste her. He engaged hers in an expert dance, their tongues grinding in a heady display of desire; the pressure perfect, his taste sweet. As their kiss deepened, his other hand groped at her thigh, and then hooked beneath her knee to hitch her leg over his hip. He pressed her against the back of a chair to give him some leverage before he rolled his hips forward and had them both groaning into the lewd lip lock.

Marta didn’t realize that her hand settled against the side of his neck, or that her other was squeezing through his coat sleeve to feel the bulging bicep beneath. Another mewl escaped her when he bucked against her again, the friction between them sending a pulse of desire straight up her core. She could feel him hardening between their jeans, adding a pressure that made her ache and all too eager to squeeze her leg around his hips. The grunt he gave in response, along with the weak rut of his hips had her heart fluttering, but she quickly grew swept away by the reinvigorated grind of their tongues.

Air was necessary, but when they both parted their bruising lips to take a breath, Ransom _finally_ caught her plump bottom lip between his teeth. He tugged gently, suckling the reddened flesh until a wanton groan escaped Marta. He hid his smirk by diving for her neck, his teeth and lips gently nipping their way down her soft skin. Dizzy, Marta clung to him for a few moments, until she felt his hand skim up her ribs and grip toward the elastic band of her bra. She shivered from the satiny touch, but her brain finally found its sense again.

“Wait, stop,” she panted, panic widening her eyes as she pushed at his shoulders and scrambled to shove her legs against him. Ransom retreated with a frustrated growl – a God honest, visceral growl. He was half hard and felt like his body was on fire, but his wildly dilated eyes watched as Marta practically had a meltdown. “I can’t trust you. I can’t trust this. What am I doing?!” she rambled, beside herself with bewilderment, and maybe a bit of disgust.

He should’ve been happier about that, really. His ‘crazy’ scheme seemed to be working perfectly. Marta was torn up, and clearly struggling between wanting him and hating him. For some reason though… he felt differently than he’d expected. His brain was only working at half mass with another head stealing all his blood flow though. Frowning pensively, all he could think to say in those brain dead moments was, “I’m not gonna hurt you again, Marta.”

She looked up at him sharply, before she stated, “I can’t trust that either.”

He smiled, like he was proud. Marta didn’t know what to make of the strangely mirthful grin, or how his eyes suddenly looked distant, and maybe a little melancholy. He finally straightened up and ran one of his hands through his slicked back locks to tame them further. “Well,” he chirped quietly, “yeah... in that case, guess I’ll take care of the windows, and see about getting security cameras for the rest of the property. The dogs can sleep with you, if you want, and they can roam the house when they’re not.” He glanced toward the floor in search of them briefly, before he muttered, “We’ll see if your little fetch trick worked.”

He looked at her again, waiting for an answer. She couldn’t find her voice again, too stunned by what had happened and the strangely normal turn the moment had taken, so just nodded her acceptance. A terse breath blew out his nose, but he didn’t press. He just took her back to her room, and left her to clutch to the dogs as she tried to wrap her head around what the fuck just happened.


	11. Sinister Games Turn Steamy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically exactly what the chapter title implies lol. Shit gets real weird, but hopefully s'hot... IDK. These two crazy kids are taking me for a trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer/Notice: And this is an important one, esp if you've been reading along thus far. I chose Marta's country of origin based on her actress' since I thought it'd be a nice nod to her. It was pointed out to me that Cubans were (up until very recently, according to my research) automatically granted refugee status/had an avenue for legal residency regardless of how they immigrated over (whether illegal or legal to begin with). Since I fucked myself by having her mother's situation be a plot point, I unfortunately had to pull a very Thrombey move and change her nationality T_T (eff me, irony of ironies).
> 
> That's my longwinded way of saying Marta is now Colombian, which has been edited in previous chapters and will be the fact moving forward >.< xD ^.^' It works with the original time zone claim, and I *think* has no immigration loopholes. ON THAT NOTE, this is an additional disclaimer that I am no expert on immigration laws. I've done some research and hope to do this story/Marta and her family justice in their struggles, but I'm no expert and can't devote extensive time in becoming one for a fanfiction. This is meant to be fun, and I mean no one any disrespect at any point! If you have pro-tips for me though, please share in the comments. 
> 
> Also feedback in general is always greatly appreciated and gives me life, so thank you so much to everyone who's been commenting thus far <3 You're the best!

Ransom spent the rest of the day fixing the windows as best he could. He’d never really done this before, but as he’d said, he wasn’t useless. It only took a few online searches to figure out what he was supposed to do, a trip to Home Depot, and some patience. 

He didn’t actually mind working. He had no interest in working _for_ people, or in any kind of conventional setting that didn’t let him do whatever the hell he wanted at all points of the day. The act of it though? The patience, precision, and skill of doing something new and successfully accomplishing it was nothing to scoff at. He just tended to be particular with what he cared to try. 

Luckily, all the windows that broke had pieces easy enough to replace, so by midnight, the home was sealed up once again. After letting everyone out to eat, do their business, and stretch their legs the next morning, Ransom left the house and everyone in it locked up tight again. He spent most of the day looking into upgrading the security system the mansion had, until early afternoon called him to the parking lot of a particularly pretentious prep school. 

He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel while he waited, until kids started pouring out from the building. Ransom tipped forward in his seat, his piercing gaze searching for one pasty prick in particular. When he spotted the little weasel, he was headed away from the school with two other kids. “Come on, make this easier for me,” he huffed, before he put the beamer into gear and veered onto the street. In rare form, Ransom drove slowly until the teenagers neared a street corner. Then, he revved the engine and cut around the corner in front of them.

The car jerked to a stop as they did, and he put it in park before he popped up from the driver’s side door. Grinning wolfishly, he set his arms atop the hood and called, “Sup, little cuz.” Jacob paled further, impossibly enough, and swallowed thickly with that pitiful Adam’s apple of his. “I’m here to take you home.”

“Dude, isn’t that your murderous cousin?” one of the boys murmured to Jacob. He blinked, frozen by Ransom’s cold gaze until the older man flicked his fingers in a curt, beckoning wave.

“You guys better scram,” Jacob said quietly, before he gripped his backpack and approached Ransom’s car. His jaw set as both of them slammed the doors shut and the car took off. Taking a deep breath, the kid decided to fire his shot first. “Why was your car parked at granddad’s mansion?” Ransom laughed and slapped his palm against the steering wheel.

“I knew it. I fucking _knew_ it, you little shit! And what the hell are you doing bombing the damn house, huh?!”

“I’m not just gonna let that wetback bitch-“ Ransom slammed on the breaks in the middle of the kid’s whiny rant. The abrupt change of motion had Jacob whipping forward, his head connecting with the dashboard. He let out a cry as he smacked against it, and Ransom watched him snap up from the hit half-dazed. He was a little disappointed the airbag hadn’t popped free and done further damage to Jacob’s face. _Oh well. Still time for that, maybe_.

“Watch your mouth,” Ransom growled, twisting menacingly in his seat to glare Jacob down. He checked briefly to make sure his cousin didn’t have any noticeable wounds, since that was unfortunately better for him in the long run. His temple was definitely going to bruise, but at least he hadn’t cut himself. Jacob gripped the side of his head, chest heaving and eyes squinting against the headache swiftly oncoming. Satisfied with the blow (for now), Ransom twisted back in his seat and pressed on the gas again. 

“Now listen to me, you Nazi prick. I’m working on getting us our inheritance back, and I can’t _do_ that if you go a blow it all to shit, can I?” Ransom dictated, glaring toward his cousin. Heaving in another breath, Jacob perked up a little and squinted at the older man. “I mean, do you have any idea what that does anyway?” Ransom barked more aggressively. “All it does is ensure Marta gets more money once she comes back from Colombia and cashes in on the insurance.”

“Marta’s in Colombia?” Jacob asked, genuinely stunned. _Thank God,_ Ransom thought, nearly sighing in relief.

“Why the hell do you think I’m at the house?” he spun further.

“But the dogs – someone let them in and out.”

“Yeah. It was _me_ , dipshit.”

“But they hate you.” Ransom shot Jacob a glare at the dubious comment. 

“Hence why I had them out for the most part. Sue me for having a heart for a second,” Ransom muttered, before he twisted the conversation around by saying, “and when the hell did you completely lose one? You were really trying to burn the house down with Marta in it, and the dogs, too?” For a second, Ransom saw red thinking about that. Jacob didn’t notice the way his fists clenched over the steering wheel, and he thankfully kept his cool otherwise.

“Why not? You got away with murder, didn’t you?”

Ransom nearly smirked. Instead, he pointed out, “I’m not really a role model, Kid.” The next moment, he jerked the car to the side of the road and screeched to a halt. This time, Jacob’s hands shot out to keep him from slamming into the dashboard again, but he could practically hear the kid’s heart hiccup into his throat. Once again, Ransom shifted in his seat to face Jacob and loom nearer. “So I’m only gonna say this once… because between you ‘nd me, my hands are already dirty. So let’s keep it that way. You’re gonna keep this between us, _as will I_ , and you’re gonna let me handle Marta and getting our inheritance back from here. Or I’m gonna tell your skinhead friends you dress up in mommy’s pearls and let twinks fuck you behind closed doors.”

“They’d never believe that!” Jacob barked, though he looked ghostly pale again – in the sickly sort of way. Ransom smirked and tipped his head.

“You sure about that? Your kind’s pretty quick to judge, proof or not.”

“Fuck you, Asshole,” Jacob hissed, flushing angrily as he started to collect his things.

“Do we have a deal?” Ransom goaded, his hands rubbing together in a calmly arrogant display. 

“Yes.”

“Good. And keep your father out of it, too,” Ransom called after him, just before the door slammed closed behind Jacob. He watched the kid haughtily march toward his house down the block, the rows of lavish Victorian homes all the same on the outside. Stepford bullshit. Icy eyes lingered on Jacob until he was damn near out of sight before Ransom silently finished the tail end of his daunting warning. 

_Or I’ll kill you both._

Shifting his car back into drive, he made a U-turn and headed back for his grandfather’s old mansion.

~*~

Marta couldn’t stop rubbing her lips as she thought about it, about _everything_. She had to, because none of it made sense. Ransom was doing exactly as he said he would by flipping everything on its head. Every act, every kind gesture and joke, she had to question. He’d given her the knife to let her have a moment of control – dark and twisted as it was. Had he known it was a prop though? Was it some kind of test to see how well she’d behave?

He’d let her keep the dogs with her to make her feel safer, and God damn it she did, despite how she still couldn’t bring herself to retaliate with them in tow, for fear of endangering them. Her cage felt smaller every day, despite the comforts now surrounding her. Her own clothes, her own bathroom, a lavish bed, and a TV she didn’t use. Ransom brought her what she needed to survive, and she was starting to grow used to the forced dependency.

She expected him every morning around 8am, which gave her time to shower and dress beforehand. They had breakfast together, and depending on the conversation, he’d stay a little longer to chat. Then, he’d be gone, doing who knew what, only to return for lunch and to let the dogs out again. They _were_ warming up to him, and on one of the warmer days, the two had sat on the terrace to watch them and enjoy the fresh, albeit still increasingly crisp fall air with a cup of coffee in hand. 

And in all that time, there were more warm moments that threw her off. It was a glimpse of the man he’d shown her in the bar, when he’d promised her he’d help her get through the mess she found herself in. The same one who had admitted he regretted trying to stab her. The soft blue eyes, the sweet little smile. His voice quiet, movements tender, and he’d say things like, “Blue’s your color,” or, “I didn’t realize you had a bit of green in your eyes. Hot.” He asked her what she wanted for dinner, let her take a few of Harlan’s books when she asked for them to read in her spare time, and all around seemed like a genuine, decent human being. 

The same man whom she knew better than anyone was a façade. 

And she couldn’t stop dreaming about him.

Their kiss haunted her, but added details made it harder to sleep soundly, and were vivid enough that she questioned reality in the morning. Raking her nails against his rock hard abs, his hips thrusting into hers in abandon, a thick cock drilling into her sopping center. In one dream, she’d held that knife to his throat, watching his beady eyes and panting breaths as she rode him to both of their demises. It was strange, though not as strange as the abstract dream she’d had, where Ransom had leathery wings and devil’s horns, his piercing eyes watching as her own wings slowly lost their white feathers.

In no way did Marta see herself as some angel, but Ransom’s simple quip seemed to have stuck with her subconscious, as did a great many other things about him. At this point, she had to wonder, _What the hell is happening to me?_ Worse was the thought of, _How do I beat this game **my** way?_

They were cresting on two weeks since he’d kidnapped her in her own (inherited) home, and she decided to try something different.

She had a chance when he came back to her room shortly after dinner the following Thursday night, the wooden Go kit tucked under his arm. Her dark eyes flickered up, his figure towering over her with her still seated on the ground at the foot of the bed. He paused for a moment, searching her mystifying expression with a curious look in his sharp eyes. Her fingers ran along her bottom lip once more, before her gaze dropped to the game and her arms folded themselves together atop her lap.

“Are you going to have a tantrum like you did last time?” she asked immediately. He half scoffed, half snorted.

“No. You’re going to teach me your method today,” he answered with a humorous tone.

“Oh?” She watched him smirk, lopsided and stunning, as he closed the door behind him and moved to sit across from her on the floor. The dogs were elsewhere for the time being, leaving him far more at ease as he crossed his legs and set the Go set between them. Marta shifted up from her slouch against the wooden foot of the bed, proving her own engagement with his suggestion (that likely wasn’t at all a suggestion, knowing Ransom). Eyes searching his focused expression as he set the board up and separated the white from black stones, she asked, “You think you’re teachable in this regard?”

He laughed, so genuinely and light-hearted her brows lifted in amazement. “Depends on how good a teacher you are,” he teased her back. Huffing, she smiled a little in spite of herself and shook her head. Staring down at the board, she reached out to collect a handful of white stones in her hand. Her expression muted a little as she realized Harlan had never asked her _how_ she constantly won, not really. He hadn’t wanted to learn her method, just complained about not being able to beat her as he tried his own stubborn way to do so.

Ransom placed a black stone to the board, before he looked up at Marta expectantly. Her lips parted, and she hesitated a moment, before choosing a spot to place her own stone. “You follow my moves,” she noted, watching as Ransom set a black stone beside hers in preparation to block her path. She chose a different place to put her white stone down while she explained, “But I follow the stones themselves. Your only aim is to contain me, because you want to win. All I care about is the pattern developing between our turns… and so I usually win.”

She had this time, too. Ransom glared at the board, the sections she’d caught of his own coupled with the amount of territory her white stones occupied dwarfing his attempts to win. She smiled at him, before she waved her finger around the board and encouraged, “You see? It is like a beautiful mosaic.” His sharp eyes flickered up to her face, lips thinned in a tight, irritable line.

“No,” he admitted, still only able to focus on the score. She rolled her eyes. Shaking her head, she bowed over the board to collect the white stones back to her side.

As they started the second game, Ransom’s bright eyes flicked up to regard Marta intently. He wanted to try something different as well. As she set another piece down to the board, he causally asked, “Ever done anal?”

“What?!” She blanched, looking up to him with a slack jaw and wide eyes. He smirked, tipping his head incredulously at her.

“Anal sex. Have you ever had it?” He placed a black stone on the board discreetly while her expression turned scathing.

“No,” she snapped curtly, a white stone clicking to the board with finality. He waited a beat, just to make sure she didn’t retch.

“Used a vibrator?” was his next question.

“Ransom-“

“Oh come on. That can’t be a worse question than anal sex,” he complained. She flushed deeply, unable to focus on his next move. 

She also couldn’t bring herself to answer, so instead deflected, “Have _you_ ever used a vibrator?”

“On myself? No, although I did use a cock ring once,” he explained, moving to set a black stone down on the board swiftly after Marta. He’d managed to circle a cluster of her own stones, capturing a decent set of points for himself. He kept his expression neutral as he explained in a goading tone, “And I’ve been known to help women use their toys before.” He offered Marta a predatory smile before he tipped his head inquiringly. “Do you have one? Is it here?”

“Pendejo, stop it!” Marta finally snapped, just as Ransom clicked one last piece into place. She looked down at the board, the heat in her cheeks lingering when she noticed he’d won the game. A chuckle left him.

“If I knew a little sex talk would put you off your game, I would’ve started with that the first time we played,” he teased, nothing but amused by the turn of events.

“Beast,” she chastised him, eliciting another throaty chuckle from the man.

“And you are certainly a Beauty,” he flirted with her shamelessly, eyes raking over her figure while she gawked at his sudden boldness. His eyes had dilated slightly by the time he met her gaze again. “I dream about you too, you know,” he mentioned a moment later. Her eyes widened in response, the dumbfounded, innocent look on her face prompting him to laugh again. “Your non-answer was as good an answer as any,” he teased her, causing her eyes to roll. He wasn’t dissuaded, asking a moment later, “Do you want to know what I dream about?”

Marta’s gaze locked onto his, and she realized this was her chance, maybe. “If you show me,” she encouraged, before she could think better of it. The way Ransom’s eyes widened was almost satisfying enough. She saw his muscles tense eagerly, so before he could get the wrong idea, she dictated, “While touching yourself. If you have the balls and brains to jerk off while spinning your dream, I’ll listen.”

 _What are you doing, Marta?!_ Her own eyes widened at herself, but she didn’t know how the fuck else she was supposed to show Ransom up. She saw how shocked he’d been when she dropped her pants that first day, and she was hoping she could shy him off from his big talk now. She should’ve known better. Ransom Drysdale never backed down from a fight. 

His eyes glinted dangerously as he stared at her, expression void of much of anything to keep his bewilderment hidden from the vexing vixen before him. He pitched up onto his knees and wrapped his fingers around the zipper of his slacks. The _zrrrrriiip_ that echoed through the room felt deafening, and Marta had to swallow against her suddenly dry throat. Their gazes didn’t waver from one another as he pushed his pants down, briefs along with them. What sprang free was nothing short of a monster... and growing.

He had to be 8… 9 inches, maybe? If she had to guess – not that she _was_ \- but she suddenly understood why he walked the way he did by the intimidating size of his cock. Marta couldn’t stop her hand from coming up to cover her gaping lips, but she couldn’t entirely hide the cherry state of her cheeks.

Ransom smirked, wicked and divine all at once.

He gripped the center of his hardened cock and pressed up to his head, the bulbous flesh staring Marta down as intently as his lust-blow eyes were. A single, ragged breath escaped him before he roughly grumbled, “Right now I want to shove my cock between your lips. Watch them redden, hear you choke on me.” Another strained breath left him as he steadily pumped his fist over his shaft. “But my dreams, they’re... different. I’m usually eating you out, drilling my tongue into you until you come on my face. And you say, ‘don’t stop.’ So I don’t. I thrust my fingers into you and suck on your clit until you’re screaming my name. And then I bury myself inside your cunt until you can’t breathe at all.”

Marta felt like she couldn’t breathe _now_. Somehow feeling completely overheated, her chest clenched tight as her wide eyes watched him jerk himself off, each pass of his large hand making her wonder how her own might fare in its place. Precome beaded his perfectly shaped head, and he smeared his thumb against it to wet his velvety skin a bit. An animalistic noise ruptured out from him as Marta’s tongue pressed to her bottom teeth in an effort to diminish her want.

“Don’t stop,” she croaked thoughtlessly, amazed by the way Ransom gasped in response.

“ _Fuck_ , Marta.” His hand moved faster along his raging erection, breath going ragged as he chased after climax. Marta felt a thrill watching his face grow flushed and wanting, the careful, confident mask he wore fractured by lust.

“Go on,” she goaded, using the momentary adrenaline to her advantage. “What else do you want to do to me?” Another snarl ripped from deep in his throat.

“Give you a hickey,” he breathed, breath hitching as he twisted his fist on the upstroke, just beneath his cock’s head. It gave a pulse, but he rambled on his desires, “Bite you, mark you while I fuck you senseless, prove you’re mine.” Grunting, his lashes fluttered, head bowing as his muscles trembled. He was nearing his end, but stubbornly held on, this torturously erotic experience too good for him to give up. He proved to be his own undoing, as per usual, by saying, “Suck on your tit until you scream again and squeeze all the jizz out of my cock.” 

He gasped out a sharp moan, body lurching before he went rigid as his cock pulsed, hot and heavy in his hand. His come spilled onto the floor, Marta watching each thick, white line glob together upon the dark wood. She tried to swallow against her parched throat while Ransom shuddered, his breath pulling in sharply a moment later. His muscles finally relaxed, weight settling back against his calves while he kept his eyes closed and savored the moment.

He was fucking beautiful.

Blinking, Marta shifted up from her seat. She lifted to her feet and looked him over for a long moment. Hand outstretching, she grazed her fingers along the side of his head, sifting her nails into his sleek brown hair. A soft groan left him and he tipped into the gentle caress. Intrigued, she pet him in the same sultry manner, keeping him in his lulled, docile state.

“That’s a very vivid dream,” she murmured, unsure what else to say at first. It took a long moment and some deliberation before she finally added, “Maybe if you let me go at this point, it might happen in reality.” He laughed at her, though it lacked any bite. His eyes finally fluttered open, the haze clouding his blue gaze only making them shine more. Taking a breath as she fought not to drown in his gaze, she pointed out further, “Kindness goes a much longer way than any of this.”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” he said finally, voice unusually soft, and still a little husky. Eyes flittering up to her face, he huffed again and smiled blissfully. “Sadly, Marta… I can’t trust you either yet.” She withdrew her hand, a subtle frown tugging on her lips. She bypassed him to grab a tissue off the desk, and handed it off to him. He accepted it, and only as he focused on cleaning up his own mess did he casually note, “I’ll think about it though.” 

He tossed the sullied tissue into the garbage can as he lifted from the ground and tucked himself back in his pants. Once they were secured around his hips, he faced Marta. Their eyes locked again, quiet and searching. Curious, hesitant, the space between them suddenly felt magnetized. Marta took in a breath, her lips parting as she leaned forward a little, as if she expected something. Ransom watched her, before he smirked in an arrogantly self-satisfied way. 

“Goodnight,” he told her, withdrawing from the situation entirely to lock the door and leave Marta stewing in the puddle he’d left between her legs.


	12. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ransom makes a daring, borderline dumb decision in the hopes of greater rewards, and it's... honestly almost decent of him. Marta doesn't realize her own vulnerability anymore and threatens to get swept up in Ransom's game once again.

In the days to come, Marta and Ransom didn’t _really_ discuss what happened that night. A new tension existed between them, something thick, and almost gravitational. They both had a heightened awareness to the way the other watched them. Even when they weren’t fully looking, they were watching. Marta continuously eyed Ransom in her peripherals, every nerve of her hyperaware of him. Ransom, similarly, moved around Marta like a planet around its sun, his body always tipped toward her in some subtle manner.

Marta strangely didn’t feel as afraid of Ransom as she had before either. She couldn’t even fully explain why. Something about seeing him dazed and blissed out, and the soft, fragile vulnerability of that moment had changed her perception of him. It was a slippery, dangerous slope, which she logically knew. To try and counteract this strange partiality she had toward him, she actively reminded herself not to be blinded by his charm again. Because no matter what power, thrill, or awe she’d experienced through that surreal, _erotic_ moment, this was still Ransom Drysdale. 

And beneath all that pretty packaging, he really was a beast.

Just over two and a half weeks since Ransom had started them on this path, he went up to her room to prove otherwise. Marta accused him of causing chaos to play the hero, but this time he had interest in capitalizing on an existing dilemma. They’d run out of time for this hostage situation to be their only dance. He knew it. He just hoped it was safe enough to open the board up.

He knocked prior to swinging the door open, a charming half-smile brightening his eyes as he leaned in the doorway. He studied Marta for a moment, her hair half pinned up on her head, and a bulky sweater covering her torso, loose sweats hiding her legs. She almost seemed to be trying to hide herself from him since their little event, but that didn’t stop his eyes from roving. She watched him, but it wasn’t his lusty leer that had her shifting nervously from foot to foot.

It took a moment of wrangling in her nerves for her to say, “Ransom… I need to meet with my lawyer, the one working my mother’s case.” He jostled his head against the doorframe a little, head tipping derisively in the process. His eyes narrowed on her a little, and he waited expectantly until she shared, “I made an appointment weeks ago. It’s tomorrow, and I can’t miss it.”

“Mm that is a pickle,” he mused, lips pursing regrettably. He eyed Marta until he noticed the way her eyes bedewed with nervousness. Tipping his head in a curt nod, he told her, “The only way you’re getting out there is if you take me with you.” She stared at him, eyes wide in disbelief, until he drew her attention down to the folder he brought up between them. Before she could ask the obvious question, he offered, “A peace offering.”

“What’s this?” she wondered while accepting it. He folded his hands back into his slacks’ pockets and shrugged his one free shoulder. 

“I’m told it might help with your mom’s case,” he said nonchalantly, though a teasing smile rested upon his lips when her eyes darted back to his face. Dumbfounded, she looked back down at the folder and quickly flipped it open while Ransom added, “By the way, you owe me two million dollars.”

“For _what_?!”

“One million for our bet – I was right, the bomber was Jacob-“

“Whu-?!” _Dumbfounded_ didn’t do her justice anymore. Flushing under all the unexpected curveballs, she stuttered for a moment before she demanded, “How do you know that?”

He chuckled at her, quirking a single brow as he taunted, “I have my sources.” Her eyes narrowed on him skeptically, and she reflexively curled the folder closer to her chest.

“Hopefully still alive sources.” 

“For now.” Her lips thinned at his dismissive answer, but she twisted away from him to focus back on the papers he’d handed her.

“I never agreed to that bet,” she pointed out, which Ransom promptly ignored.

“One million for that,” he added, nodding at the information she currently studied. Sensitive, _forgotten_ information on her mother that she felt a little nefarious reading now. 

Eyes wide and breath shallow, she asked, “How did you even get this?”

“Money can buy anything, Marta. You really need to get with the program on that,” he drawled, lips pursing while his eyes lingered on her curiously. Obviously _he’d_ read the information, but her reaction intrigued him. She seemed surprised, which meant she _hadn’t_ been aware why her mother was an illegal immigrant in the first place. Expression softening a little, he searched her conflicted expression before he slowly delivered, “In this case, I have a lawyer who’s managed to help _your_ lawyer, so you should pay mine’s fees.”

“Your lawyer costs one million dollars?” Her face scrunched up adorably in her disbelief. Smirking slightly, he shrugged with one shoulder again.

“Couple hundred grand. The rest is my interest.” She didn’t find his tease nearly amusing as he did, which had him rolling his eyes. “Come on, a million is pennies for you these days.” Her attention returned to the pages filled with history she hadn’t been privy to. When she still looked stricken, Ransom pointed out, “This is a good thing, you know. It’ll prove your mom feared persecution so much she couldn’t enter the country legally, or request asylum before now.” 

He was likely right, and the information his lawyer had obtained was an impressive culmination. He’d collected everything from her parents’ home of residence outside of Medellín, Colombia in the 80s, to a horrifying breakout of Cartel activity in the area that had lead to the subsequent decimation of that little neighboring town. He’d even traced an unfortunate, albeit distant familial tie that could prove the continued need for discretion. Still, Marta could hardly bring herself to believe it. 

“I don’t understand why she wouldn’t have told me about this,” she murmured.

“Guess the puking lie detector isn’t hereditary, huh?” Marta ignored him, which had his brows flickering with muted irritability. A little more callously, he added, “Your family might be more fucked up than mine.”

“We’re not,” she denied instantly. Their history was maybe uglier, but despite Marta’s inability to speak ill of the Thrombeys, she’d _never_ put her mother and sister in the same league as them. Ransom hummed, before his fingers snatched around the folder to grab it back. “Hey!”

“You said your appointment is tomorrow, so you’ll get it back when you decide whether we’re both going,” Ransom dictated, before he spun out the door and shut it behind him.

It was an easy decision, really. Doing what was right for her mother, especially knowing all she’d run from to give Marta and Alice a better life in America, would always win out with Marta’s conscience. If she needed to team up with the very asshole who tried to stab her in the heart, so be it. They were both ready to go shortly after breakfast the following morning. Ransom let out a full body sigh when he saw Marta approach him in her thick, puffy white jacket and cheap, figureless slacks.

“Jesus. You should at least dress the part of a multi-millionaire, you know,” he scoffed, and found the jab entirely worth it when Marta’s bottom lip pouted forward.

“Says the man whose sweaters all have holes in them,” she chided back, pointing toward the frayed collar of his baby blue sweater. His brows hiked in surprise.

“I wear them a lot, and don’t care about their laundry settings. Why waste money on buying new ones that’ll suffer the same fate when drugs are so much more fun?” he defended, holding one hand up noncommittally. Shaking her head at him, she followed him out the terrace door and toward the woods, where they followed the path to where the beamer was hidden. It was only when they were both seated and locked in the car that Ransom tossed the folder of information back in her lap, atop of which he let her phone finally plunk. His focus shifted on driving them to Marta’s appointment, though he remained acutely aware of her as she started scrolling through her phone.

“Is your mother going to be there?” he asked gruffly. 

“No… not today,” Marta answered slowly, her brows pinched as she looked through her missed calls and messages. Hitting the tab for her voicemail, she brought her phone up to her ear and told him, “She’s still pretty scared about the whole thing, so I’m going to manage most of it on my own… only make her go when she must.” Ransom hummed in acknowledgment, and then the two fell silent for several moments. When Marta spoke next, she sounded far more frazzled than before. “Ai, Ransom – I missed so many calls! From the publishing company. From my _mother_. From a guy at Netflix.” The last one made her stomach churn as she listened to him talk, and realized with renewed terror, “Oh my God… I don’t know anything about owning a publishing company.”

“You’ll have to hire someone who does.”

“Who? Walt?”

“God no,” Ransom chuckled harshly. He shook his head while Marta’s perturbed expression turned toward him. “Don’t get me wrong, granddad was a fossilized narcissist who just didn’t want other people tampering with his books, but he was right not to let Walt do much more than publish them. He would’ve sold out harder than a two-dollar whore, let any TV and film producer rip the rights right out from his spineless fingers.” Marta considered that as she looked Ransom over. 

“And you?” she asked after an elongated pause, “Do you have any idea how this all should work?”

“Are you asking for my help, Sweetheart?” Ransom wondered, both flippant and intrigued. His crystal eyes flickered toward her, and she met his cocky smile with a blank expression. She considered him for several moments, even after he went back to staring at the road ahead of them.

“Better to work with the devil you know, right?” she murmured quietly. Ransom’s eyes darted to her quickly, before he chuckled. She had a point, but he didn’t argue one way or the other. They fell silent the rest of the way to Boston, where the lawyer she’d hired had her office. Marta looked up at the plain brick building as they approached, a gold plated sign reading _**Lara Keller, Attorney At Law**_ hung beside the black-framed, glass door. Another sign hung below it, but neither paid it any mind as they headed inside and up the stairs to the second floor.

The suite was cozy, with warn down gray carpets and ivory walls. She had old furniture in the waiting room, chairs with the plush blue cushions and light brown armrests, a coffee table and bookshelf that matched with reading material no one ever cared to touch. A paralegal sat behind a desk in the corner, and since there was no one else in the waiting area, she smiled at the two of them politely and went to tell Ms. Keller her appointment had arrived. From the adjacent office, a woman in a pale blue pantsuit with soft auburn hair and dark eyes approached them, a warm smile on her face. 

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” the woman, Lara Keller, said enthusiastically. She held a hand out to shake Marta’s hand specifically, her client’s smile more strained in response. She glanced toward Ransom briefly, but didn’t pay him much mind as she invited them into her office space. “Hope you found the place okay.”

“Yes. Thank you,” Marta said politely, finally finding a more genuine smile as she noted, “Thank you for meeting with me.” 

“Of course. Now let’s talk about your mother’s case.” For the next hour, they sat with her to review the situation in detail, past the intake call Keller had done with Marta weeks ago. She had a lot more to offer the lawyer than she’d originally expected thanks to Ransom, and it left Marta glancing toward him every once in awhile, trying desperately to contain her awe. 

“I think this should definitely be enough to get a pardon, and get some kind of green card application under way,” Keller assured them by the end of their meeting. Marta let out a relieved breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. “Let me take a deeper dive into this, make some notes of my own. I’ll have my assistant call you in a couple weeks to book a meeting so we can go over the case, and so I can finally meet your mother,” she added, smiling kindly and reassuringly. Marta decided she liked her. The tension in her shoulders eased, and she nodded appreciatively.

“Thank you,” she repeated, before she and Ransom left for the day. As they headed down the stairs and out the front door, Marta glanced toward him more peculiarly. “You were surprisingly well behaved,” she pointed out. Ransom guffawed humorously.

“You’ve never seen me outside of a family dinner,” he pointed out gruffly, eyes scanning the streets. “I’m hungry. You wanna get something before we head back?” His narrowed eyes remained fixated on the block and his pursuit for intriguing details, until he noticed Marta had picked up one of her own. Her dark eyes were fixated, and when he followed her line of sight across the street, he noticed the parked cop car she couldn’t seem to look away from. Quirking a brow, his gaze slowly returned to her before he asked, “You’re not getting any ideas, are you, Marta?”

She blinked, and her eyes darted up to meet his. Taking a breath, she hesitated before she pointed out, “I could be, couldn’t I? Scream, or run up to one of those policemen. You can’t stop me from getting away here.”

“But I could probably still get away,” Ransom countered, tipping his head forward to make his looming presence more intimidating as he added, “and what do you think would happen then?” Someone would get hurt, certainly. Even an actual murder hadn’t stuck to him, all the evidence washed away or meaningless. She hadn’t questioned the severity of that privilege before standing here, cops only a few paces away and utterly oblivious to the situation. If he got away here and now, he could do it again, and likely never feel the consequences of his actions.

But what of his other actions? Of helping with her mother’s case, putting out fires and fixing windows, and finding the culprit who had threatened her… those actions, calculating and manipulative or not, were worth noting too. _Ransom only helps when he wants something,_ she reminded herself, _and right now, he wants you._

_Tame me, before I break you._

Going screaming to the cops wasn’t bound to make him behave better. In fact, she knew without a doubt it would cause something worse. Looking toward them one last time, Marta took a deep breath and realized… she really was going to play this game. “I’ll go back with you,” Marta promised, dark eyes lifting to meet Ransom’s gaze again. She was pleased to find he looked a little surprised. Pursing her lips together, she added as a precautionary measure, “But no more locked doors.”

Ransom laughed, light and delighted. His eyes twinkled a little as he cupped the edge of her jaw and neck with one hand. Dipping forward, he crushed his lips to hers, startling her brows into lifting. Her knees threatened to go weak at the way his silken lips smothered hers. A bolt of desire immediately warmed her against the chilly air, and she likely would’ve staggered had Ransom’s other hand not slid beneath her puffy coat to circle around her midsection.

“Deal,” he breathed once they broke apart, dilated blue eyes searching her stunned expression. His thumb grazed the very edge of her cheek before he added his own stipulation, “But that means whether you or I have to leave the property, we have to go together.” Their breaths mingled together with how close their faces still were, and Marta realized somehow the rest of them had come together as well. Even with all the layers of clothing between them, the pressure of his body wedged up against hers had her suddenly struggling to breathe.

“Yes… okay,” she croaked, swallowing against her dry throat. His smile broadened, before he bowed forward to snag her lips in another heady kiss. Marta couldn’t quite contain her moan, or the way her hands gently set to his chest as she sunk into that sinfully perfect kiss. She forgot completely where they were, what they were doing, everything outside of the way her lips tingled as they meshed with his. His arm snaked around her back further, allowing him to tug her tightly against him as his tongue darted between her lips to brush against her own. 

The added stimulation made her oblivious to the fact that his other hand slipped from her face, or how he held a middle finger up in the direction of a camera honed in on them.

Before she could come to her senses and push him off, Ransom released her. She clapped back to her own feet, hardly aware he’d lifted her clean off them until she’d already fallen back to reality. They both panted lightly, lips a little redder and shiny from the lewd lip lock. He grinned at her vaguely bewildered expression and grabbed her hand, making a point to link their fingers. 

He lead her back toward the beamer without any other indication he’d spotted the paparazzi snapping photographs of them.


	13. Setbacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long story short, shit hits the fan xD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got away from me and turned into a monster, but I love it. I hope you all love it too <3

_Damn,_ Ransom thought as Marta went up to bed that night, _I can’t believe how easy that was._ His plan seemed to be working better than he could’ve hoped. He almost felt sorry for the poor broad, but that didn’t stop him from feeling tickled over how well things were progressing. One good deed certainly _didn’t_ go punished, nor did the bad ones – not if you were a Thrombey. He felt damn near giddy, and so eager for what was to come, he could hardly sleep that night.

There were other rules outside of ‘no locked doors’ and ‘we stick together’, of course. Marta had to use the room she’d been in, so Ransom didn’t have to worry about anything outside of the door itself. He slept in the room adjacent, which made it easier to hear if the door creaked wide at any point. He also kept ahold of her phone and computer to ensure she could only use it when he had eyes on her. All in all, not much else had changed, and that night passed rather peacefully.

Ransom was looking forward to the wrench about to be thrown in their strange domesticity.

When Marta woke up the next morning, she approached the door with a thundering heart. Her weight shifted from foot to foot nervously for a moment, before she twisted the door handle. With a creak, the door gave way. Her eyes actually widened in lingering disbelief, but she let out a relieved sigh a moment later. Somewhere in the depths of her logic, she knew she shouldn’t have been so stupidly happy to find her door unlocked, but there she was, smiling like an idiot for this brief moment of kindness and sincerity.

 _You’re an idiot,_ she promptly told herself as she stepped foot on the first stair.

Laughter echoed through the house as she headed downstairs, immediately piquing her intrigue. It sounded sharp, but infectious. She moved for one of the living rooms, and found Ransom watching the TV, laughing again. At first she smiled, and murmured a quiet, “Good morning.”

“Morning. There’s coffee for you,” Ransom said, offhand, a single finger gesturing in the direction of the kitchen. Surprised, her smile warmed a little as she watched him, but she drifted off to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee and feed the dogs. When she returned to the living room, Ransom’s chuckles lingered as he munched down a piece of toast.

“What’s so fun-“ her voice left her once she finally took a proper look at the TV screen. Ransom had a local news channel on, and the story of the day had an enlarged photograph of her and Ransom, lips locked and fists clinging to one another on the sidewalk of a quaint Boston street. Blanching, Marta’s jaw dropped as she read the headline: _**Is Murder The Only Scandal in the Thrombey Legacy?**_

 _”We asked some of the family members for a statement on this recent development. Where Linda Drysdale declined to speak, her husband Richard Drysdale – recently in the news himself due to photographs of this very nature – had a **lot** to say about the matter,”_ the reporter, a dark haired woman in a pink blazer and pencil skirt, drawled robotically. The camera cut to Ransom’s father, the black eye he’d sported nearly a month ago almost gone entirely.

_”Kid’s a chip off the old block, what can I say? We see a pretty little thing with dark hair, and I – I just can’t blame him, you know? Now, is it a little weird Miss Cabrera went from Harlan to Ransom? Well… maybe, maybe! But…” Richard laughed, “we did always say Ransom was more like Harlan than anyone. The two really were just – just so close.”_

_“So you believe Miss Cabrera had more than a professional relationship with the late Harlan Thrombey?” his interviewer asked._

_“I meannnnn, why else give her the family fortune, you know? But really, really – I just wish those two kids the best, you know?”_

“Yeah fucking right,” Ransom snarled, chucking a balled up piece of paper at the TV screen. It smacked right into Richard’s fake, smarmy smile. “I have the missed calls to prove what you want,” he grumbled to himself, before the program cut back to the peppy reporter.

 _”Walter Thrombey had a different opinion,”_ was her brilliant deduction. Walt looked just as haggard and irate as usual, his lips pursed beneath that dumb, bushy mustache of his.

 _”It’s a disgrace, you know? Seeing all of dad’s hard work become the subject of scandals and – and – you know, I said this to the cops several weeks ago. We all love Ransom. He’s a good kid, but he’s never had a job. And Marta’s a nurse from another country, with no creditable background. How are these two going to manage a multi-million dollar publishing company? It’s just – it’s just disgraceful! I wonder about my father’s mental state in his last days. I mean, doesn’t the fact that he took his own life say something about it all?”_ Walt pled, his head shaking like some disappointed old dad. 

Ransom sneered. He knew Marta watched behind the sofa he sat on, so quietly challenged her, “Still think Walt deserves a second chance?” She didn’t know how to answer, nor did she have any idea what to say about the matter as a whole until the photograph changed. The reporters prattled on about their speculations on the budding romance while a photo of Ransom, lips still secured with hers, holding a middle finger up to the camera came into view.

“You saw the photographer?” was the first thing she thought to say. Ransom snorted at her.

“Of course I did. I hired him.”

“What?” She must’ve sounded faint, because Ransom twisted around on the sofa to look at her, one bulky arm braced against the back of the couch. They both forgot the TV entirely. In fact, Marta wasn’t sure she could focus on anything past the blood rushing to her head, and how the walls suddenly seemed to be closing in on her.

“Marta, come on,” Ransom implored, his head tipping condescendingly, ”this is a good thing.”

“How?” she asked. Even to herself, her voice sounded far away, which somehow abruptly snapped her back to the present. “ _How_ , Ransom? This shit storm of media sensation had just subsided!”

“Oh please, don’t be naïve,” he scoffed, his leer turning cold. “You’ll never be rid of that. This kind of shit doesn’t just _happen_ , Marta. The fortune, the ‘murder mystery’, everything about your situation is like crack to the media. Every move you make will be watched from here on out. Your failures scrutinized and blown up, your successes documented and marginalized.” He shook his head, as if she should’ve already known this. Maybe she should have, but she wasn’t privy to the cost of fame yet, and possibly never would be. “I just gave them the first thing to cling to, and now my family knows you have me on your side, and _no one’ll_ expect you to testify against me, or believe one if you do.”

Feeling somewhat like another wrench had just been thrown at her head, Marta startled a little and said, “Wait, what?” Something horrible sunk into the pit in her stomach before Ransom’s sly smile bloomed.

“Oh, you didn’t hear? Elliot and Wagner are trying to appeal my acquittal under the grounds of their own testimonies being enough ‘evidence’, even though my lawyer and the judge tripped them both up _plenty_ in the preliminary hearing,” he explained, half mocking and half irritated. His lips remained curved in a sharp smile as his narrowed eyes honed in on Marta. “If only Blanc stuck around, huh? He was the only one who could keep that shit straight to begin with.”

Marta suddenly felt dizzy. Shallow breaths tried to pull through her struggling lungs. She swooned, and staggered away from the living room to try and find somewhere she could breathe properly. Ransom tensed, his hand fisting around the back of the couch as he pressed his feet to the cushions. He leapt over the back of the couch using the leverage of his arm, and only staggered for half a second once his feet clopped to the ground before catching his balance (he wasn’t Captain America, after all). 

“Marta,” he called, tracking her as she mindlessly shuffled through the halls. He followed after her slowly, muscles a little tensed as he waited to see if he had to placate or pounce on her. She was unresponsive in her daze, even as he drew closer to her. “Marta,” he repeated, focused on her wide, stricken gaze. 

“I can’t believe it,” she finally whispered, just as he reached a hand out for her. She whirled on him, knocking his hand away so she could push at his chest again. Considering how wobbly her legs looked, he was impressed by the power her trembling fingers held… even if he didn’t move back past a single half step. “Every time I decide to trust you for a _second_ , you ruin it!” she bellowed at him. Angry tears welled in her eyes, her fists balling up at her sides. She tried desperately not to look as hurt as she felt, but it still caused her voice to waver as she said, “You used me.”

Unsurprisingly, Ransom scoffed at her, and that only made her angrier. “Does it matter if it benefits us both?” Ransom drawled, before his smile went lopsided. His phone vibrated in his pocket, the buzzing loud enough for Marta to hear. It helped the ringing in her ears had finally quieted thanks to her growing anger. Pulling his phone out, he glanced down at it and added, “Besides, as an added benefit, I now get to prove to you how monstrous the rest of my family really is.”

When he answered the call, on speakerphone, Linda Drysdale’s shrill voice had them both jerking back from the device.

“You little shit. You think you can steal everything by fucking that little slut?” Ransom watched Marta’s expression grow a little gaunt and pale at the vile words.

“Well by how angry you are, mother… I’m gonna say you believe I can,” he said carefully, the lightness in his tone unmatched to his neutral expression. Linda was so irate she carried on like he hadn’t spoken at all.

“You tell her – you tell her if she doesn’t give me my goddamn inheritance back, I will ruin you both, do you hear me? I’ll show you the kind of hell I can wreak on your lives.” Whatever color Marta had left in her cheeks immediately drained from her face. She would never forget that line, _And then you’ll see just how much hell I can wreak on your life, you vicious little bitch_. Those biting words had reflected through her mind often in that week after Ransom’s assault. She found herself somewhat surprised hearing it come from Linda now. 

It wasn’t the first time though, was it? 

_Up your ass, Joni._

_You take this piece of paper and shove it right up your ass!_

The man standing across from her wasn’t the same one she’d been around for the last couple weeks either. His smile was sharper, daggers buried in his crystal eyes. His mother had brought the beast out of him in full force, the same one she’d clearly had a hand in creating. “You just told her yourself, mother,” he taunted Linda coldly, before he hung up on the woman. Switching over to his voicemail, he clicked on one left from Walt.

_“You think you can just weasel your way back into my dad’s fortune by charming the pants off that Uruguayan freeloader? Do you think any of us are just going to stand by and let you get away with all the shit you’ve done, you selfish little prick-“_

His father.

 _“Hey, Ransom my boy. You know, your mom’s shunted us both, and I think it’s time we settled our differences and came together – not under the Thrombey name, but as Drysdales, who we truly are-“_

Joni.

 _“Ransom, honey. It’s Aunt Joni. I know we’ve had our differences, but between you and me, you’ve always been the smartest in the family. I’d really like to speak with you, if you could please call me back.“_

Each time, Ransom cut off the message before the end, moving on to the next until he ended the torrent completely. As he pocketed his phone again, he muttered gruffly, “They won’t bother you anymore. You’re welcome.” For a second, Marta was stunned. _Is he really trying to make this sound like a favor?_ A moment later, she remembered he wasn’t the only one with people who quickly grew hysterical over the news.

“Ransom where’s my phone?” she whispered. With a stony expression, Ransom lifted her phone from his other pocket and handed it to her. She covered her mouth when she read how many missed calls she had. “Oh my god.” Her mother, Alice, Benoit, Meg, several of the others in the Thrombey clan, and more numbers she didn’t recognize all cluttered up her missed calls and voicemails. Forgetting everyone else in that moment, Marta twisted around and called the first person who mattered. 

“Mama,” she whined the second her mother picked up. Ransom tensed, but didn’t try to intervene as she spoke in Spanish with her mother for a few moments. “Please, Mama,” Marta finally pleaded in English. “I’m okay. I promise. I’ll come by soon and explain everything.” Her gut churned threateningly, but she managed to convince herself it was possible. Maybe. She glanced over her shoulder at Ransom uncertainly. He didn’t exactly look thrilled, but he said nothing as she quietly wrapped up her conversation with a, “Te amo.” 

Even Ransom knew what that meant. His jaw locked, arms crossing over his chest as Marta faced him once again. Her own expression had grown a little harder with her mounting irritation. “Proving the world is as ugly as you doesn’t make you a ‘winner’, and people’s hearts and lives aren’t games, Ransom,” she snapped at him, earning another condescending scoff.

“Not in my experience.”

“And I am sorry for you.”

“Don’t you dare,” he snarled at her, arms uncrossing so he could square off with her more intently. “I didn’t ask for your fucking pity.” She glared at him for a long moment, knowing he didn’t _really_ deserve it, either. None of them did, but Marta couldn’t help herself. Vile as all the Thrombeys were, she couldn’t help looking for the good in even them, and she knew just where to start.

She pivoted their argument by claiming, “And you’re wrong. Not everyone in your family are monsters. Meg isn’t.” She’d forgiven Meg the second she apologized for betraying her mother’s secret. She knew now, looking into Ransom’s icy glare, that she’d forgive him if he apologized, too. Maybe she already had.

“You think so, huh?” he sneered while she briefly questioned her sanity for the hundredth time. “Well, let’s find out.” He brought his phone out again, and finally called Meg back. 

“Finally, you prick,” she barked immediately.

“Sup, Meg? Failing your SJW degree yet?” he responded flippantly.

“Fuck you.” Meg scoffed at him. “You know, I could probably help those cops figure out how to throw you back in jail. Maybe I’ll do that when I come back for winter break.”

“Is this what you called to talk to me about weeks ago?”

“No. I wanted to make sure you weren’t cooking up any more cockeyed plans to get back at Marta.”

“Big talk, considering I just did more to help Marta’s family than you, oh righteous one,” he chided venomously. He could practically hear her balk through the phone, which had him smirking lazily.

“Excuse me?” she yipped, her voice wavering with her lingering guilt, and the alarm she felt hearing Ransom call her on it in such a manner. He almost chuckled.

“You don’t watch the news, do you?” he drawled, before rolling his eyes. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. And anyway, are you really concerned about Marta, or me messing up your tuition payments?” It was a trap, and at first, Meg played into it beautifully. Ransom’s bright eyes lifted to Marta expectantly.

“Fuck you, prick. I didn’t get a trust fund like you,” Meg snapped at him, “and _unlike_ you, I actually care about my education, so don’t judge me for caring if I can go to school!”

“I’m not judging you for that,” Ransom told her. He paced a few steps before he explained, “I’m judging you for studying social and political sciences when you don’t care about the real ‘justice’ of either.”

“Wow. I can’t believe you actually know what I’m studying.” Meg scoffed, and she fell silent for several moments. Ransom grew curious by the sudden weight to the silence. His eyes flickered toward the ceiling until Meg warned, “Watch your back, Ransom. You thought shit was bad in the family before, you made it a whole lot worse.”

“Meaning?”

“While you were in jail, I heard our parents and Uncle Walt talking about you. It’s what I called for. Something about bringing you and Marta to civil court to sue you for the money.”

“ _My_ money, too?” His eyes widened enough that Marta almost smiled at how comical he looked. Still, even she was surprised to hear his family wanted to strip his trust fund, whatever was actually left in it at this point.

“Mmhm. Just desserts for being an asshole, I guess,” Meg chirped through the speakerphone.

“So why are you telling me?” Ransom asked, his turn to sound a little astounded. Again, Meg fell silent for a moment. When she did speak, Ransom felt his stomach clench uncertainly.

“Because that detective guy was right. We’re vultures, and… we learned how to be like that from our parents,” Meg admitted slowly. She took an audible breath, before explaining, “When I came back to school, I thought about all the fucked up shit that went down this Thanksgiving, and just… how I fucked Marta over because our parents pressured me. I just-“ uncomfortable. This was _uncomfortable_. Ransom was so taken aback by the shift in the conversation, that his mouth hung open for a beat too long, his usually quick mind trecherously blank.

As always, he settled on biting humor to save face. 

“Christ, you’re not gonna give me one of your hippy lectures, are you?” Meg actually huffed, and again, he found himself tensing uneasily. Heat crept up the back of his neck and tipped his ears, and he was suddenly _potently_ aware of Marta’s big, patient stare.

“Hey. You said you helped Marta with her mom?” Meg redirected, her tone perking up.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t…” she laughed, “I don’t even know how that’s possible or why, but you’ve obviously seen her recently.” It was his turn to snort.

“You could say that,” he murmured, his gaze locking with Marta’s steady leer. He couldn’t even begin to read her soft expression, but he didn’t like it.

“Can you warn her about this, too? I haven’t been able to get in touch with her.”

“Yeah… I’ll let her know.” He hung up promptly, and looked away from the way Marta’s lips thinned in a tight, disapproving line. He scoffed, tapped his phone against his palm a few times, and muttered, “Probably should’ve called her sooner. They could try to lump us into the same civil court case if they spin this shit right.” He gestured his device toward the TV still playing in the other room to indicate what he meant. Arms crossed beneath her chest, Marta finally rolled her eyes.

“I think I’ll go lock myself in my room. I suddenly don’t have an appetite,” she muttered flatly, slapping her phone into the palm of his free hand. It felt heavy. Everything felt heavy for a second, and he didn’t understand it. Her glare lingered on his face, even as she twisted for the stairs. It was only when she walked off that she turned her back to him fully, and Ransom was free to feel the heat stinging his cheeks.

He couldn’t stand to think Harlan had some sense in all of this. Meg seeing some shred of light, humiliating as it was in the current context, wasn’t _that_ surprising. Even he could acknowledge she was the “kindest” of them all. Like Joni, however, it tended to be hollow. He didn’t like this new layer, or how foolish it made him look. He wasn’t actually worried about the civil lawsuits, but the timing was annoying considering the move he’d just made. He hated Marta was maybe right about Meg, after all.

 _Why the fuck do my plans always go sideways with her?_ That pissed him off, too.

Rolling his eyes, he marched off to work out some of his frustration with something else. Strangely, that happened to be running with the dogs outside. With how Ransom lived his life, high speed and careless, he had to make up for the poor care with exercise. He had a personal gym at home, but it’d take too long to get to his house, so he ran laps around the backyard with the dogs yapping and prancing in tow. He leered at them every once in awhile, when they’d growl at him playfully or get distracted by attacking each other, but they’d all come to an understanding. Each one of the hounds (Ransom included) appreciated the exercise.

And Marta appreciated the unexpected view. 

When things remained quiet, she left her room to head down the hall. She went upstairs, and again to the little attic of a study Harlan had. Being in it again was hard, but maybe not as hard as it should’ve been. The blood was gone, couch replaced, and the Go board was now sitting in her prison room. But the rest of the private study remained the same, and Marta looked around it with sorrow, the nostalgia of fond memories, and a little twinge of lingering guilt.

She moved past it to check Harlan’s bookshelves for a new book to read. She grabbed _Cutter’s Edge_ , some strange, growing morbidity in her curious why Harlan had built a dungeon in his house at all. She had to step onto the back of the couch to reach high enough on the bookshelf lining the wall, however, which is how she caught movement in the backyard. Pausing, she tilted toward the window, and perked up in surprise at what she saw from her bird’s eye view. She couldn’t help hopping off the couch and running downstairs to get a slightly closer look from one of the second story windows.

She damn near pressed her face up against the glass watching Ransom run the perimeter of the backyard with the dogs loping at his heels. The thick sweater he wore was slimmed down by the windbreaker zipped up to his chest, the edge of his sweatpants tattered and soaking through by the still wet December ground. Even from here, she could see how flushed his cheeks and nose were. Her lips parted in surprise as he finally slowed, chest heaving and head bowed while he caught his breath. The dogs circled him, and one yapped its jaws at him.

He stared at it for a moment, before he plucked the ball he’d stopped at off the ground and tossed it across the yard.

Blinking, Marta felt her own cheeks rosy, and she smiled in spite of everything. “Well, that’s new,” she murmured to herself. Ransom lifted his head toward the house, and Marta’s eyes widened before she leapt away from the window and returned to her room. She heard him come in a little while later, her bedroom door ajar while she remained curled up on the bed, book laid out over her thighs and head resting against her pillow. She kept her gaze glued to the pages as Ransom trudged up the stairs, his breathing still slightly labored. She’d stopped reading though, every other sense she had honed in on the man.

He bypassed her room to the bathroom in the hall. A few moments later, she heard the shower running. Blowing out a breath, she forced herself to focus back on the book, and dutifully ignored how she’d expected Ransom to stop in her doorway. Irritated with her own stupid thoughts, she read the same line in the book almost four times before growling out a breath. Her eyes rolled, and she focused on the ceiling for several moments until the shower stream cut off. When a door opening echoed from the hallway, she looked out her own doorway.

She heard his footfalls creaking the old wooden floors, and then he passed by her open door to get from the bathroom to his chosen bedroom. She wasn’t surprised, had deep down been hoping for it, but her expression still went slack over his indecent figure. His torso bare and still slick from the shower, dark hair spiked and crazed from the haphazard way he’d dried it (though it remained shiny from the lingering moisture), a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. She knew what laid beneath that flimsy white barrier, and her darkening eyes dropped to the muted area.

 _Stupid, **stupid**_. 

She managed to lift her eyes when he glanced toward her. Heat stung her cheeks, and that only worsened when she took note of the twinkle in his blue eyes. He smirked, and leaned one shoulder against her doorway, his cut abs noticeably flexing while he casually asked, “You hungry?” A single brow arched in contemplation before he taunted, “Or… thirsty, maybe?” Her expression held its vacant mask, lips drawn in a subtle frown. When his smirk grew more wolfish, she brought her book up before her face to block her view of him (and simultaneously hide how bad her blush was growing). She could practically hear his eyes rolling by the way he said, “Well, I’m going to make lunch soon, if you decide you’re done being stubborn.”

He thankfully walked away before her stomach gurgled eagerly. “Shut up,” she told it, rather petulantly. Growling out a sigh, she let her head flop back to the pillow, eyes once again glaring at the ceiling. She felt uncomfortably hot, her body singing to have that perfect, slicked physique pressed up against hers. Her mind still clung to her anger though, and her newest sense of irritation with his deflection of it. And her heart just felt torn between the two, and so many other strange threads the situation was trying to tangle around her. 

Hunger won out in the end. She headed downstairs to find Ransom in the kitchen, lunch being made across three burners as he boiled pasta and sizzled up some chicken and vegetables in separate pans, the chicken in particular marinating in a sauce that had Marta’s mouth watering. Her stomach gurgled again, drawing Ransom’s attention toward her. With lifted brows, he took her in and laughed when she set her hand against her stomach to silence it. “That’s what you get for skipping breakfast,” he chastised her.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t upset me with your games,” she shot back. He glowered at her for a moment, but focused back on his cooking. He turned the burner for the pot off, and forked the chicken out of its frying pan. Once they were left on a plate, he added a few more ingredients to the sauce left in the pan to help it thicken up. Marta forced her gaze away from him, choosing to ignore her awe in watching him work by looking for a mug. She’d never even drank her coffee from before, so wanted to start again.

Her _My house, My rules, My coffee_ mug was on too high of a shelf however. _I didn’t put that there,_ she thought while blinking up at it. Hand falling short as she reached for it, she mentally planned how she was going to crawl atop the counter when she heard Ransom ask, “You need help?”

“No, I-“ she froze when Ransom suddenly pressed up behind her, his hips pinning hers to the edge of the counter. Her breath hitched, spine going rigid once Ransom’s chest bumped her shoulders as he reached up past her and collected the mug. He set it down near her hand, but she couldn’t think to move, her brain nothing but white noise as the heat she felt earlier crept through her like an infection. 

“You seem tense, Marta.” She could hear the smile in his voice. Careful fingers dipped past her slender nightshirt and grazed her side, causing her to jolt. As his fingertips smoothed above her hip and drifted inward, she shivered a little, and she felt his chest vibrate against her back with a hidden laugh. 

“You make me tense,” she mumbled. 

“I could probably help lessen it, you know.” His fingers nudged past her pant line, and she finally caught ahold of her dwindling senses. Her hand clamped around his wrist, and she felt his heavy sigh deflate his torso against her, his breath breezing past her neck coolly. “Can you pass me a knife?” he asked a moment later, sounding wearier than before. Her muscles coiled worse than before, dark eyes snapping to the knife holder within arm’s reach of her. 

When she didn’t move for several moments, his smirk grew wicked, and he pressed against her back a little tighter. “Thinking of stabbing me with it?” he murmured in her ear. Her dark eyes flickered toward him, her breath hardly able to escape her. “It’s probably the only way you’re getting rid of me now,” he added thoughtfully, before kissing her cheek as an added insult. She jerked away from him, so he took it upon himself to grab the knife he needed. Ignoring how she trembled against him for a moment, he withdrew entirely to finish making their lunch. “You really should lighten up, you know.”

Finally free, Marta shifted against the counter to stare at him, her confusion gleaming hurtfully in her gaze. “Do you ever stop playing games?” she whispered, staring at him as he sliced the chicken up like nothing had happened at all.

“I plead the fifth,” he joked humorlessly. Marta’s stomach churned, and she wondered if she’d be able to eat at all now. _Again_. She moved numbly for the coffee maker, and set to her original task to try and shake her discombobulation away. With the snail’s pace she moved at, by the time she finished making her coffee, Ransom had finished mixing the pasta with the chicken and sauce, and was plating the dish, a side of cooked vegetables for each of them. Even she could hardly hear her ‘thank you’ as he set the plate before her seat.

They ate silently, the strange tension laying over them thickly. While Marta ate, not _entirely_ ignorant to how creamy and flavorful the food tasted, she reflected on the last several weeks. She had little to do but think over every little detail that had transcribed between the two of them, because she was cut off from worrying about the rest. Ransom was her immediate problem, and she wouldn’t be able to solve any of her other ones if she couldn’t get past him.

Days ago, she’d said something crazy to try and gain some kind of edge. Maybe she’d wanted to test how far he’d go, or maybe she just wanted to see how much _he_ really wanted her. Either way, she’d had a purpose, obscure and unexpected as it had seemed. She wasn’t an idiot. She knew the power of temptation, of seduction. She had plenty of friends – both in and out of the nursing industry – who used sex as a way to get what they wanted, who bragged about men who ate out of their hand simply because they had a chance to eat their pussy, too.

She felt a little sick thinking about it. She didn’t know a damn thing about flirting, and had no interest in 'selling herself', or anything else so ridiculous. Still... _still_. Her legs felt like jelly when she finally lifted from her seat, her empty plate in hand. She moved toward Ransom’s seat, her mind strangely blank outside of the alarm ringing in her head. It didn’t deter her, nor did the way he ignored her at first. He finished chewing his food, one fist curled beside his head as he glared in the distance thoughtfully. Finally, pointedly, he tilted his head up to look at her. She held his gaze as she set her plate down, and gathered his empty one atop it. She paused there though, eyes searching his stoic expression.

“What if I asked you to stop playing games?” she pondered. His eyes narrowed, teeth grinding one final time before he swallowed his last bite. His fingers rubbed together inside his tight fist.

“What’s in it for me?” he retorted, shoulder tipping back to lean haughtily in his chair. Another game. _Immediately_. She almost huffed, but then… she was kind of playing a game of her own, wasn’t she? She caught his hand before he moved far. Her throat dried as he stilled, panic sending her heart into a race. Massaging her tongue against the roof of her mouth, she pooled as much saliva as she could at the center of her tongue, and channeled her pent up frustration for courage. Ransom tipped toward her curiously when she lifted his hand, his fingers relaxing enough that it was all too easy for her to slip two past her lips and suckle lightly.

His reaction was immediate, and gratifying. Breath hitching, she watched his pupils dilate rapidly, and his lips part when she gently rubbed her tongue against his fingertips. She drew her lips off him with a _pop_ , and shifted his hand down toward the hem of her pants, which she’d already pried forward with her free hand. 

“I told you. I might be more persuaded if you were just nice,” she murmured, fingers releasing his wrist once he’d reached the starting line. He didn’t hesitate to let his hand drift lower, another breathless noise leaving him when he realized she wore nothing else beneath her sweats. As he pressed his wet fingers between her folds, his laughter accompanied her gasp.

“I never would’ve taken you as the type to use seduction as a ploy,” he noted, flexing his fingers to immediately rub along her clit. She pitched at the sudden bolt of pleasure, hand clamping around his shoulder to steady herself. He hunched forward eagerly, his finger pads circling gently over the bundle of nerves. She choked down a whimper in the back of her throat, and forced her lust-glazed eyes open to look at him.

“I never would’ve taken you to be a murderer,” she bit out, breath growing a little ragged when he stroked her at a longer, slower interval. A hum left him as he watched her, head tipping curiously while her entrance slicked with more than just her own saliva.

“Me neither,” he agreed quietly. He quieted as her knees parted, her weight sinking against his hand slightly. He ground his fingers against her clit a few more times before the building wetness drew him deeper. His fingers curled at her entrance, a pool already waiting for him when he breached her past his first knuckles. His own lust-blown eyes looked mystified as he watched her lips part, eyes suddenly strewn shut as she savored the way his fingertips felt thrusting inside her most intimate hole. Huffing breathily, he admired her pleasure-wrecked expression and said, “But I guess when people are desperate… they’ll do all kinds of things.”

By this point, her sweats were held open by his wrist, his muscular arm having little difficulty nudging the cotton down further so his fingers could pump deeper inside her. Marta whimpered, her juices oozing out to coat his skin with each pointed rock of his hand. When he finally pressed his fingers in wholly, his thumb joined the gentle assault by folding upward to massage over her clit again. She cried out, head canting back while her hips reflexively leaned into his hand. “Fuck,” Ransom breathed, huffing in amazement, “you’re so sensitive.”

Her chest heaved, the warmth spreading through her threatening to tense her muscles with bliss at any moment. Both were swept away entirely by the moment, and jarred from it completely when the house suddenly howled with a droning, dreadful _ding dong_. Marta gasped, her body seizing as both her hands gripped around Ransom’s offending arm. His widened eyes drifted toward the front door, which was annoyingly hidden by several other rooms through the house.

“Ransom-“ Marta choked.

“Who the fuck is that?” he snapped at the same time. He withdrew from her to lift, irritation and frustration hardening every inch of his body. Marta didn’t know whether she was relieved or distraught he’d pulled away so swiftly, but she secured her sweats over her hips to follow Ransom as he marched for the door. When they reached the hallway to the foyer, they both heard the demanding knock that rapped against the wooden door. That only served to anger Ransom further, as did the glimpse they caught of the gray-haired man standing on the other side of the stained glass beside the doorway. “Is that-“

Benoit fucking Blanc.


	14. Lying Will Save You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no words. These two assholes keep me up at night, so I hope you enjoy their insanity xD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge fits Marta and Ransom so well, don't you think?
> 
> EDIT: I added a line toward the middle of this chapter that I think helps explain Marta's progression through this chapter. Just an FYI for anyone who might be re-reading.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Ransom snarled immediately, his eyes growing deadly cold as he leered out the window at Benoit’s oblivious profile. A part of him had anticipated this, but seeing Benoit’s stupid face again had his blood boiling. More than Marta, this man had come dangerously close to ruining his life, and Ransom knew he was about to try and do it again now. With excess testosterone being left to waste in his balls, it redirected into his muscles, which coiled with bloodlust as he pictured squeezing Benoit’s neck with his bare hands until his head popped like a balloon.

He twisted abruptly and headed for the stairs, leaving Marta to scramble after him.

“No! Ransom, _Ransom_! Please, no,” Marta yipped, racing after him on still shaky legs.

“What do you think, Marta? Should I build a serial killer MO and use your morphine again?” he goaded, ignoring her pleas and how her fingers tried to snag against his sweater. He kept marching on, mind buzzing on just one thing, and fingers twitching for a means to that end. “Or maybe pay homage to my fucking namesake and grab the knife granddad keeps up in his study?” Marta didn’t know _what_ the hell that meant, but Ransom seemed to like that idea. He tipped his head in agreement with himself once he reached the second floor. 

“Stop. Stop!” Marta sprinted the second she got up the stairs, her fingers clamping around his arm. She used her grip, and an invigorated skip in her step to claw her way in front of him. Hands planting to his chest, she pleaded desperately, “You can’t do this.” Brows lifting, he pressed against her locked grip and sneered.

“Oh can’t I? You said it yourself. That man’s responsible for completely undoing me, isn’t he?” Marta shook her head, but Ransom scoffed at her deflection. “Seems like just desserts from where I’m standing.” She couldn’t stop shaking her head. Every nerve in her body seemed to be trembling independently from the rest, her only tether to reality the vice grip her fingers had in Ransom’s sweater.

“No. No, you don’t have to do this,” she whispered instead, teary dark eyes snapping up to his face. “I can fix this. Please. Please, I can fix this.” Brows lifting, he laughed at her, cold and cruel. A chill shot through her bones before he wrenched his sweater free to bypass her. He trudged further upstairs, to the attic study for his grandfather’s favorite replica knife. The slender, curved blade felt so light in his fingertips that he removed it from its sheath to inspect on his way back downstairs. He wasn’t surprised to find Marta blocking the stairway to the ground floor, and while she tensed at the knife in his hands, she didn’t budge.

“You really think you can lie well enough to send him off all of a sudden?” He scoffed, and chuckled callously again. “Alright. I’ll play,” he drawled, his footsteps creaking menacingly along the wooden floor as he drew nearer to her. He held the knife up, brandishing it threateningly while he warned, “But Marta? If you fuck this up, I’m gonna kill him. And I’ll make _you_ bury the damn body.” He ignored the way she went a little green as he slipped past her. He set the knife against the wooden railing and sliced a deep, angry gash into the fixture, just to make sure this one _wasn’t_ another prop. Satisfied, he sheathed it, and slipped the weapon inside the back of his pants, a little clip on the handle keeping it in place.

Marta looked from the slash in the railing to how Ransom drew his sweater down over the back of his pants to effectively hide the weaponry. Her heart thundered, threatening to give out any second, and the tight ball in her throat extended anxiously into her stomach. Taking a breath felt impossible, but she tried to force air deep into her lungs to lessen her terror. Mouth drawn tight, she smoothed her fingers through her dark hair and pled with herself, _Please get it together. Someone else’s life depends on it._

Her steps remained unsteady as she headed downstairs. Ransom slipped off to the side, lingering in the shadow of a large grandfather clock beside the foyer (despite how it didn’t matter. After his paparazzi stint, the cat was out of the bag. His beamer was parked in the driveway now, so Blanc already knew he was here. That didn’t mean the bastard had to see him coming if things were about to turn bloody). Marta glanced toward him, her breath rattling one last time before she faced the door and opened it. A pale, wavering smile was offered to the kind-faced man on the other side. 

“H-hi, Mister Blanc-“

“Benoit, Marta. Please,” he corrected again, as patient and polite as he had the first time.

“Right. Uh, what – what are you doing here?”

“Well, I saw the news this mornin’, and I just –“ he laughed, beyond flabbergasted, but too polite to let it show much past that airy sound. “Well, I caught the first flight out. Just arrived, and had to come check on you. Would you mind if I came inside?” He stepped forward, and Marta instinctively stepped back, allowing Benoit to brush past her and inside before she’d fully realized it. Lips parting, she blinked as she twisted to follow Benoit’s movements. She caught a glimpse of Ransom instead, his slightly luminous leer freezing her heart. He tipped his head as if to say, _Well, you’ve already fucked up._

Benoit hadn’t seen him yet, his back turned to Ransom since his focus was on Marta. Her heart rate quickened, dark eyes snapped back to his handsomely wrinkled face as he drawled on, “Last we spoke, you were in Colombia, handling something to do with your mother’s case.” She folded her lips between her teeth to keep from answering, her patient silence enough to encourage him to fill it, as it had since they met. “And at that time, I advised you-“

“To steer as far away from me as possible?” Ransom cut in, stepping forward from the side. Sure, he gave away his element of surprise, but he knew Marta wanted Benoit to walk out of here, and he’d agreed to play her game for the time being. He was too curious not to. Their steely gazes locked, and Benoit had the decency to look properly astounded seeing Ransom so free and at ease. 

“As a matter o’ fact, I did. Yet here you are,” the southern gentleman growled. Old blue eyes narrowed perceptively, as if he was trying to glean the truth through Ransom’s very presence. “I’m sure I’m not the only one wonderin’ what the hell you’re up to-“

“Oh, well we were just having lunch. And it was-“ Ransom slipped his fingertips past his lips and sucked, his teeth clucking obnoxiously when he popped them back out to mock with a southern drawl “- _finger-lickin’ good._ ” Marta’s stomach dropped, her eyes widening to saucers at the lewd gesture that caught her below the belt, too. _Literally_. Her thighs had the slick to prove where those fingers had just been, and she was suddenly reminded of how aching and frustrated she was herself. She could see the laugh in Ransom’s twinkling blue eyes, though his smirk remained subtle as he stared Benoit down, this secretive innuendo just for them.

And it had her legs quivering for more.

Her face burned with embarrassment, and she couldn’t hope to find her voice. It gave Ransom the opportunity to taunt on, “You see, not that it’s _any_ of your business, but I’ve been working on making amends for how I acted the past month and change. To Marta especially.” His eyes flickered in her direction, expression unexpectedly soft for a brief moment. The look disappeared a moment later as he tipped his head with reluctance, leaving Marta to wonder if she’d imagined it. 

“Now I’ll admit, it was rough-goin’ at first. She didn’t trust me, and rightfully so. I’ve been doing what I need to, to pardon myself however, and on the path of accepting my apology… “ Ransom trailed off and smirked, shrugging his shoulders before he eloquently summarized, “shit happened.” 

Benoit looked to her finally, but Marta couldn’t tear her eyes away from Ransom. Arrogant, self-satisfied. _He knows what to say,_ she told herself. Ransom Drysdale knew exactly what to say to sell a situation, and he spun the perfect foundation for their lies. Uncertainly, she had to wonder if it was all a lie. He said he regretted what he did to her, but seeing him now… while the words maybe matched, his demeanor didn’t. She saw a different side of him each time she looked, like he had her inside some funhouse mirror maze. She couldn’t help wondering if that – if _everything_ really was just a game, even when it sort of felt like more.

“Marta,“ Benoit murmured, snapping her attention onto him.

“You’re an uninvited guest-” Ransom started, only for Benoit to turn on him and cut him off.

“ _All due respect_ , Mister Drysdale, I came to visit Marta. I’d like to speak with her.” Ransom’s jaw clenched, and Marta saw a blizzard’s worth of ice build in his deadly glare. Right. _Remember what Harlan told you. Fragments of the truth._ She swallowed thickly, beady eyes flickering back to Benoit. Her lips chirped open nervously, but she took a breath and thought carefully.

“The truth is this,” she started slowly, her accent punctuating every syllable. “Ransom is staying here with me. He cooks my meals, and does my laundry. He helped me with my mother’s immigration case, and obtaining the information I needed in Colombia.” She glanced toward Ransom, a thrill bolting down her spine from the way he looked at her. Shocked, amazed… possibly a little infuriated. She’d seized the moment away from him, and whether the sharp glint in his eyes told her she might regret that later, pride swelled in her chest for the time being – and maybe his, too. Her voice had a more confident lilt when she continued, “I might even let him help me at the publishing company with how things have been going.” 

“You can’t be serious,” Benoit declared, gaping. 

“It’s unconventional, and I admit I... don’t quite know how I feel about all this,” Marta acknowledged, meeting Ransom’s gaze again. She tilted her head at him, expression thoughtful while she noted, “But he’s been helpful, and for now that’s enough.”

‘You really are too kind for your own good, Marta,” Benoit murmured, still utterly dumbfounded. 

“And you’re an unwanted visitor,” Ransom sneered, “so get the fuck out of our house.”

“Ransom.” She’d said his name before she realized it, and didn’t until she found herself captivated by his bright blue eyes again. Still arrogant and antagonizing, but he looked at least a little curious as to what she wanted. And she _wanted_ to wipe that haughty look right off his stupidly beautiful face. Again, she didn’t think before she said, “I’ll ask that you not be rude to our guest in _my_ house.” 

The only other person in the world capable of dragging something so competitive and confrontational out of her had been Harlan Thrombey. He had a natural ability to drive people into a fight because his ego required it. Ransom clearly had the same effect on people, and Marta finally had the gall (and the opportunity) to rise to the challenge. His lips drew into an angry line, but he didn’t dare open his mouth. He _couldn’t_ , not if he wanted his own damn lie to sell. Marta knew it, and it reflected in her mirthful gaze as she sweetly requested, “Will you please bring in some coffee for us all?”

His eyes widened, sending another thrill shooting through Marta’s system, and the dangerous smile spreading across his lips didn’t lessen that delightful rush. He held his hands out and offered a mocking bow. “Yes, mistress,” he groused. Again, Marta felt something deep and powerful throb in her gut, though she couldn’t fully discern whether it was fear or arousal that suddenly plagued her. The slick growing cold between her legs remained stark on her mind as Ransom exited the room to gather coffee from the kitchen. 

“That’s… different,” Benoit noted, his tone conflicted.

“It has been strange,” Marta agreed offhand. The older man’s perceptive blue eyes landed on her.

“But you’re alright?” he asked while his eyes searched her. When she seemed to be physically sound, he prodded in the same gentle fashion, “He hasn’t threatened you, or anything? You can tell me, you know. I helped you once before.” Marta offered a brief smile.

“I’m alright,” she promised, her stomach convincingly quiet. Benoit hadn’t let that simple fact deter him from the truth before though.

“You looked… a little ill when I walked in.”

“Yes,” Marta agreed, because it wasn’t _her_ she worried for at this point, “I-“

“You’re not trying to spin fairy tales again, are you Blanc-y boy?” Ransom cut in, two cups of coffee in hand. He passed one off to Benoit, the other held out for Marta as he stood at her side. After accepting his own cup, Benoit gently scoffed.

“The only boy here is you, Mister Drysdale.” Ransom’s fist clenched beside his hip at the insult. Marta’s gaze shifted toward it, and with the hand not wrapped around her coffee mug, she grazed her fingers along his knuckles. She caressed up the back of his hand, until his fingers relaxed and flexed outward, inviting hers to tangle with them. She locked each digit with his, her heart fluttering as their fingers folded over one another in a strangely quiet intimacy.

The second Benoit’s gaze drew toward their conjoined hands, Ransom brought their linked fingers up. His elbow bent as he circled his arm over Marta, trapping her snugly against his side with her own grip and the tight curl of his muscular arm beneath her ribs. A million butterflies flurried through her stomach, and her skin heated under Ransom’s possessive hold. His spicy scent overwhelmed her, her lashes threatening to flutter from the ravenous want she had for the strength in his hardened muscles and the heat radiating from his body. She couldn’t look Benoit in the eye, but her cheeks stung from the intensity of his gaze.

Ransom’s knuckles pinched around her own, biting her unforgivingly. She felt the message in her bones. _Make him leave, or I will._

“I – thank you for stopping by, Mis- um, Benoit. But I think… I’d like my alone time with Ransom back,” she murmured slowly, finally meeting Benoit’s thoughtful leer. Ransom smiled, his arm tightening around her waist before he kissed the side of her head affectionately. 

“Alright, Marta,” Benoit agreed quietly after an elongated moment. His lips quirked in a rueful smile before his gaze flickered up to Ransom’s face. _I underestimated you,_ the old detective thought, reluctant still to leave when his gut screamed so damn loud that something was amiss here. He pivoted on his heels though, and Marta slipped from Ransom’s grasp to escort her friend to the door. He set his untouched mug down at the end table beside the front door and pivoted toward Marta. “Please tell me you know what you’re doing?”

She stiffened, but searched his earnest eyes and found her lips quirking fondly. “I need to see this through,” she admitted slowly. Her gaze shifted toward Ransom, who remained behind and simply leered, unblinking, at the two speaking in the front archway. “I think – I think it’s possible for me to help him. More than a jail cell likely ever would,” she confessed to her friend. She met Benoit’s gaze again, knowing it likely sounded as crazy as it felt. His incredulous huff practically confirmed it, but his expression remained kind.

“You’re young, and a good person. I’d wager the kindest I’ve ever met,” he told her earnestly, before he leaned nearer, his gaze imploring. “Men like that are incapable of change though, Marta.” Logically, she knew he was likely right, but her chest flared angrily at the insinuation. Her fingernail curled against her coffee mug, tapping the edge of the ‘E’ in _My house_ irritably. “You’re playing with fire, and I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” 

Her smile remained tight, but she nodded in understanding as she repeated, “Thank you for checking up on me, but I’m alright.” Benoit hummed, but he nodded curtly and bowed out of the mansion gracefully. He paused and doubled back, keeping Marta from closing the door as quickly as she would’ve liked.

“I think I’ll stay in town awhile longer,” he told her, a finger pointing over his shoulder in gesture toward the road. “I’ll be up at the motel on Sixth. It’s close by, in case you ever want to talk.”

“Thank you.” Her smile warmed, and he finally took that as peace of mind to shuffle down the front steps. She shut the door, her hand braced against it, locking her back inside. Locking the beast with her back up, too. She felt a swell of pride having succeeded, of deterring a potentially dangerous situation. The relief of tension had her feeling damn near high. 

“I don’t know whether to praise you or punish you for that,” Ransom finally spoke, the deep rumble in his voice causing Marta’s nerves to flutter. She twisted to face him slowly, eyes scanning his unreadable expression. She knew his piercing stare was caught between amazement and anger, but something else shone through, something she couldn’t pinpoint. It should’ve shied her off from her brief arrogance, but it didn’t. She lifted her mug slowly, and slurped at her coffee in a slow, rattling drawl while her gaze held Ransom’s in an obvious power play.

He chuckled silently, head tilting like some feline that couldn’t figure out what it was looking at. He closed in like the same predator, deliberately stalking her up against the door until he was close enough to wrap his fingers around the mug. She released it once he pried it away. Her gaze remained locked with Ransom’s captivating leer as he set her mug down next to Benoit’s unused one. “Where were we again?” he murmured huskily, eyes growing hooded as he admired the curve of her lips.

Marta barely had time to suck in a breath before he crushed against her. Lifted clean off her feet, he pinned his hips against hers, bracing them roughly against the door as their lips locked in a fiery kiss. She didn’t even _want_ to hide the lewd moan that escaped her, her tongue immediately lashing with his in a heated dance. Her legs coiled around his hips with a vice grip, fingernails biting through the frayed wool of his sweater. Growling, his hips nudged forward reflexively, grinding their boiling loins together. Marta shivered as her sweats finally soaked into her wet folds, the throb of Ransom’s clothed cock making her walls beg for more.

His arms bound behind her back as he ripped away from the door. He teetered them into Harlan’s office, a place he knew so damn well, he hardly had to break their kiss to find his way to the desk. His arm swiped out, casting papers and organizational plastic skittering to the ground in his pursuit to lay Marta out across it. She hardly noticed what surface her back connected with as Ransom bucked against her again, his breath hot against her lips. A shiver coursed up her sides when his hand skimmed up beneath her shirt, which had a lusty growl escaping through his gritted teeth. His eyes flickered around her strung out expression while he demanded, “So tell me, Marta. Which do you think you deserve?”

“Praise,” she answered immediately, her glazed eyes opening to take in his curiosity. She smirked, waiting until she had him yearning for an explanation before she crooned, “I got Blanc to leave, and made you look like my bitch boy.” His brows lifted, that dangerous smile curving across his beautiful lips. Her heart skipped a beat when he pushed her shirt above her chest, exposing the simple black bra holding her pert breasts in place. Skin prickling at the air, her torso danced beneath the press of his palm, his skin smoothing down hers until his fingertips curled around the hem of her pants.

A ragged breath left her, back arching and hips pitching to help him slip the waistband lower. His hand suddenly slid behind her neck, sifting into the hair pinned under her head as he growled, “Say that again.” Her breath hitched, and before she finished opening her mouth to taunt him, his fingers fisted in her hair and yanked down, jerking her crown into the wood and forcing her back to arch while his fingers shoved back inside her wet slit. The pitch of her head almost ached at the brutal angle Ransom had contorted her to, which contrasted the slow, sweet drill of his fingers inside her. 

Dizzy and breathless all too quickly, her belly warmed with desire and pleasure, the evidence of which coated Ransom’s fingers with each purposeful stroke. He watched her chest heave into the air admiringly between the arch he’d created in her body. “I ought to wind you up to the point of madness, and leave you chained up downstairs to stew in it,” he threatened huskily. He finally released her hair, allowing her to relax against the desk so he could watch her wanton expression instead. Cheeks flushed, eyes fluttering and lips parted, she looked beautifully abandoned of reason already. He flicked his thumb along her swollen clit just to watch her squirm. 

Her walls gave a teasing clench around his fingers, promising a beautiful release. He thrust his fingers into her until his last knuckles threatened to press through her opening before he demanded, “Beg.”

“No,” she growled out immediately, her voice wavering where her tone did not. Blackened eyes peered at him through hooded lids, defiant even in her need. Huffing indignantly, Ransom drew back immediately, standing to his full height as Marta let out a far more frustrated, “ _No_.” He intended to drag her up and force her downstairs for all the insolence, but her hands immediately dove for her sopping center. She parted her folds with two skilled fingers, her other hand stroking at her exposed clit in a mad chase for her release. Ransom nearly gasped, his whole body freezing so he could take in the lecherous sight – Marta’s strung out expression, sweats down to her knees and fingers drumming her clit faster with each second – his own pupils blew wide with ravenous want.

“I don’t need you, Ransom,” she groaned, before her voice strained into a whine. She’d been so close to begin with that between her own practiced fingers and Ransom’s intense glare, her cunt quickly quivered. Before euphoria could fully sweep her away, Ransom fell to his knees with a groan. He ripped her sweats down to her ankles, before his fingers bound around her wrists and tugged them beneath her. She shrieked in frustration, but only for a moment until he jerked her closer to the edge of the desk and pressed his lips into her flooding slit. 

His tongue dove forward, lapping into the deluge of her orgasm like a man dying of thirst. Her groan turned low and agonized, her hips rocking forward on their own accord as his soft, warm tongue probed into her clenching walls. He coaxed her orgasm to last a few moments longer, before sending her into another blissful spiral the second his tongue swirled around her sensitized clit. One hand finally released her wrist, only so he could slip three fingers inside her. His tongue continued to massage her throbbing clit, incessant and slow, his fingers pumping through her at the same rhythm. 

Her lower abdomen pulsed dangerously, the fire overwhelming her veins bringing a thin sheen of sweat to her olive skin. Chest heaving, Marta jerked her head up from the desk to look down at Ransom. Her legs had somehow hooked over his broad shoulders. She didn’t remember losing her sweats entirely, and didn’t care as she watched Ransom grind his tongue against her, and heard the wet hiss of his fingers as he thrust into her faster, opening her up for something _far_ bigger. 

_God._ He looked almost divine, eyes glinting brightly and lips reddened with her own juices, but she knew better. He had the devil hidden behind those eyes. 

_God help me, I don’t care,_ she thought, just before his fingers twisted inside her, hooking against her g-spot at the same time his lips wrapped around her clit and suckled. A cry tore from her throat as her head canted back, almost into the same position he’d dragged her to minutes before. Her hips jutted against his fingers, thighs clamping against his thick shoulders as she came hard and fast, soaking the fingers her body clenched around, so tight it was as if she never wanted to let him go. He still pulled out, releasing her entirely so she could catch her breath. She suddenly felt empty, and her bleary gaze searched him as he lifted back to his feet.

He haphazardly wiped his face against the edge of his sleeve before his hands dropped to the fly of his jeans. “You want me though?” he asked as he popped the button loose. Marta felt her mouth go dry as he unzipped his pants, but he stopped there, forcing her to make up her mind. Their gazes met, the tension between them balanced on a knife’s edge.

“Yes,” she finally whispered, eyes glazing as she repeated, “God help me, yes.” Ransom grinned wolfishly, and in the split second before he shoved his pants toward the ground, she felt a little bit like she might’ve just sold her soul to that devil within.


	15. What Are These Feelings?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex. Just pure smut, and maybe a little bit of feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading and reviewing. You always make my day, and I hope I'm making yours in return ;)

Marta forgot all about her doubts once his cock sprang free, already rock hard and raring. Her breath hitched, and she swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat as Ransom tugged his sweater up and over his shoulders, reminding her _everything_ about him was rock hard… and raring. 

_Lord have mercy, he’s a lot of man,_ she thought stupidly while gawking at him. His subtle smirk lingered as he neared her again, and she remembered her own bundled up shirt. She finally tugged it free of her arms while Ransom popped the clip of her bra open. A shiver coursed through her once she was bare, but Ransom quickly wrapped his warm, wet mouth around one hardened nipple. His hand massaged her other pert breast while his tongue swirled and his teeth scraped her attentive peak. 

Moaning weakly, Marta squeezed her fingers around his thick bicep. Enticed, she massaged her hand up his shoulder and against the back of his neck, her reward coming in how he rumbled against her breast. Her legs hiked up his hips, the gentle brush of skin prompting Ransom to decide he finally had enough of foreplay. Pushing up from her chest, he gripped behind one of her thighs while his other hand gripped his cock and lined his head up with her opening. 

Marta yipped, pressing against the desk to hold herself half upright as she asked, “Aren’t you going to get a condom?”

“Why?” He laughed at her, brows furrowing dubiously. “Don’t you have an IUD or something?” She balked at his alarmingly accurate assumption.

“How-“

“I heard Meg asking you about one last Easter. Sounded like you had some personal knowledge,” he explained, causing her to blink in disbelief. She didn’t think Ransom Drysdale had ever taken notice of her before the will was revealed, so each detail he seemed to have absorbed from their prior life came as a surprise. 

“Yes, I-I do, but-“ she stammered, only to lose her voice when Ransom shoved her back against the desk and loomed over her, his eyes narrowing intimidatingly.

“If you’re about to suggest I wear one for STD purposes, I’m gonna be offended,” he growled, scoffing. He shook his head and snapped, “I might be a whore, but I don’t fuck trash. Do you?” A dozen responses popped in her head, all the way from, _I’m about to fuck you, so yes_ to _Having a medical condition doesn’t make someone trash_ , but one thought in particular had Marta keeping very quiet and still.

If anyone had ever been unfortunate enough to give Ransom Drysdale an STD, they’d probably be dead. 

She felt a little queasy thinking that, which maybe made it easier for her to believe he’d never let it happen in the first place. Still unable to find her voice, she simply shook her head. “Good,” he murmured, before he crushed her lips in a possessive kiss. An involuntary groan left her at how sinfully good it felt. Her chin tilted up to deepen the embrace, but she only ended up chasing his lips as he drew away. “Then no raincoat,” he finalized, aligning himself with her once again. As his bulbous head pressed against her, he groaned, “No way am I taking your perfect cunt without being able to feel everything.” 

She couldn’t even think to argue with him at this point, nor did she want to when her veins felt ablaze and mind foggy with lust. A ragged gasp sucked into her lungs, for she could suddenly feel _way_ too much. Her body struggled to comprehend the onslaught on her nerves as he split her open, inch by inch, until she finally tensed painfully. Ransom paused at the resistance, his wild eyes snapping up to the wince on her face. He had the decency to look surprised for a moment as he started to ask, “You’re not a-“

“No,” she silenced his unspoken thought, shaking her head before grunting, “It’s just been awhile.” Nodding in acceptance of that, he planted his hands on the desk around her and waited. She trembled against him for a moment, her legs biting into his hips, before a telling puff of air escaped her and her muscles relaxed somewhat. Drawing his hips back, he slid his cock out half an inch before he gently pressed forward to pierce her deeper. She groaned, eyes fluttering shut when he did it again, and again, each slip of his thick cock a little easier than the last.

Part of her had expected him to be cruel, to shove inside and just take what he wanted - reckless, rough, and selfish as always. He had the affinity for it, certainly, but he was also a prideful son of a bitch who liked unraveling people. In anger, or shame… and _certainly_ in lust. Ransom’s talent for reading people amplified in the bedroom, his senses attuned to each minute reaction. Every touch was an experiment leading him closer to undoing his partners entirely, every gasp or moan a tell of how to make that happen. 

He didn’t have to be a genius to figure out Marta needed a gentle touch to start, and the payout was worth it when he finally hit home and she moaned raggedly. Her back arched against the desk once he filled her up to the brim, their pelvises grinding together as he nudged just a little deeper to make sure there was no further resistance. All he got was a heady groan, and her fingers curling into his muscles greedily. That was enough to spur him forward.

His hips snapped back, pulling his cock out almost to the head before he thrust back into her. She yipped, and he bucked in search of another musical note. He picked up a brutal pace; slow, powerful thrusts quickly driving them both mad with pleasure. Marta’s cries grew more elated, her sopping center heating with each glide of his thick shaft. Her eyes ravenously raked his figure, the rhythmic flex of his cut abs making her mouth water. She dragged her nails down the taut muscles, leaving angry red marks in their wake. 

“Fuck,” Ransom snarled, his hips stuttering for half a second, before he pulsed into her harder than before. Her low groan encouraged him, so he braced his arms beneath her thighs and pushed them open, locking his hands back onto the desk with her knees hooked around his forearms. When his cock plunged into her slippery walls at the new depth this position allowed, Marta felt her center quake with the threat of climax. By the way Ransom groaned and picked up his pace, she knew he’d felt it. 

“You’re beautiful,” he growled, sense abandoning him when her walls clenched him teasingly. His eyes flickered between her spread thighs, and how fucked open her pretty folds were around his thrusting cock. “So fucking beautiful.” His eyes trailed down her figure, admiring her jouncing breasts before he watched his cock disappear inside her tight channel through several eager thrusts. Groaning lewdly, he breathlessly demanded, “Touch yourself again.” This command she didn’t care to disobey, and she quickly set her fingers to her own sweaty skin. One hand cupped her breast, massaging it while she pinched and tugged on her own nipple. Her other fell between her legs, strumming along her slippery clit in rhythm with his powerful strokes.

A desperate noise squeaked from her as the heat inside her intensified, the friction too much to bear. She whispered his name, her heart fluttering when another visceral, animalistic noise left him. He pitched forward, pushing her legs up higher and lifting her ass off the desk a few inches. Tipped almost onto his toes, he drilled down into her deep enough that she felt too full to bear – felt an agonizingly blissful fire erupt deep in her core. Scrunched in on herself, her entire existence boiled down to the swell of his plunging cock and how deeply it burrowed into her belly.

She shouted, his name tearing from her throat as her every muscles seized, pleasure rupturing through her in a wave of white-hot electricity. Her drenched walls squeezed around him unforgivingly, and his own stomach clenched with the race of his orgasm. He grunted out another indignant, “Fuck,” before he shoved into her as deeply as he could, his lips wrapping around her pulse point to suckle a punishing bruise into her skin while his balls emptied into her womb. Her cries reduced to desperate squeals as their muscles clenched and trembled together. 

The aftershock of pleasure already had Ransom shivering, his teeth nipping against Marta’s clavicle, another punishment for bringing him to an untimely, albeit rapturous, end. 

After one final twitch, Ransom pulled out and almost went blind at the bliss coursing through his over-stimulated cock. The cold bit at him a moment later, but that didn’t stop him from prying Marta’s slit open to admire how their come mingled inside her. Her blush darkened, lips parting adorably in her embarrassment. He smirked, but released her so he could reach for the tissue box he’d knocked onto the ground with half the desk’s former occupants. Collecting one for himself, he passed the box off to Marta so she could clean up. He dried his softening dick, and chucked the tissue in the garbage before he reached for his boxers.

The movement drew Marta’s gaze to the knife still resting inside his discarded pants. A frown tugged at her lips as she sat there and stared at it, before she looked up at him and called, “Ransom?” His hypnotizing gaze fell on her, and she hesitated. Only after she discarded her own sticky tissues did she find the courage to ask, “What did you mean by your namesake? Before. Up – up the stairs. You said…” she trailed off, and he followed her wandering gaze toward his jeans.

“Ah, yeah,” he mused, bruised lips pursing. He reached down and collected the knife. He handed it off to Marta still sheathed, though his eyes never left it as he explained quietly, “This knife… one of the villains from my grandfather’s books uses it. He’s known only as “Ransom” for most of the book, until the big reveal later. He was Harlan’s favorite character he ever created. It’s why my mom chose it for my middle name.” Like he was some tribute to Harlan. Even _Hugh_ was meant to be a nod to Harlan, allowing one of their initials to be the same. He hated that name more than he could say, however, and at least Ransom sounded cooler. He scoffed, grumbling more to himself than anything, “Everything about me is a derivative of that man.” 

Marta’s brows furrowed, her heart suddenly aching at the steely look on his face. Everything about him looked strangely murky all of a sudden. His eyes were stormy, jaw locked, body rigid. Walls reinforced with ice and venom were clawing up around him, protecting what Marta suspected was a whole lot of hurt. She didn’t fully know what to make of it, but she could never turn a blind eye to someone in need – not even a murderous beast.

She set her hand against his cheek, drawing his attention to her. His cloudy gaze searched her soft expression, the dewiness in her big, dark eyes setting him on edge. “Don’t pity me,” he snapped. She huffed at him, but dragged him forward with the press of her palm. Their lips met, the pressure aching from how raw they were left after their encounter. Still, the blissful sensation had both their breaths stuttering, and Marta lingered near once the kiss broke, her glaze eyes searching Ransom’s stoic face tenderly.

“This isn’t pity, Ransom,” she murmured, stroking her fingers along his jaw. “It’s… well, I feel for your pain, and that’s not a bad thing. If anything, I think it helps me understand you more, and that’s a very good thing.” He chuffed at her, body still tense and the look on his face uncertain, _skeptical_ , like he didn’t believe her. She’d seen a lot of the Thrombeys’ issues over the years, knew most of their dirty little secrets, but she’d never really internalized it like she did now. After seeing so far beneath the hood of what they were capable of, she didn’t really blame Ransom for not trusting the sentiment.

She kissed him again, her fingers carding through his slightly sweaty hair. A groan finally escaped him, the affectionate, soothing gestures finally forcing his shoulders to relax. Only then did Marta pull back, a gentle smile gracing her ruby lips. Ransom’s stomach suddenly flipped up into his chest, her beauty and serenity catching him off guard in that moment. His throat closed as he watched her get up and grab her sweater. It’s all she bothered to put on, her beautifully sculpted ass drawing his gaze beneath the hem of her shirt. She lifted her hand, shifting his attention toward the inviting flex of her fingers.

He took her hand, and the tension in his stomach flurried outward into his nerves. Their fingers laced together, smooth skin making his nerves tingle with warmth. As she led him upstairs, into her room and under her covers to watch some TV until dinner eventually called their attention, Ransom suddenly had to wonder which of the two of them was more deeply in over their heads.


	16. You're A Beautiful Dream, And A Secret Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More smut. A lot of smut, and then some plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A hundred pages. I've made it to A HUNDRED PAGES OF THIS NONSENSE. _Guys_. These two have ruined me, but I love it so much T_T As always, thank you to everyone reading and reviewing this. Lets all go down with this sinbin of a ship <3

Ransom woke before Marta did. In the first few moments of waking, he took in the homely room and recalled the night before. Dinner for two, legs tangling under the covers, Marta’s light little laugh at the _New Girl_ episode they’d had on the TV. The progression of the night was the most domestic he’d ever had, and he’d drifted off to sleep before he had a chance to realize he felt so damn comfortable in the first place. 

His fingers smoothed over his still slightly tender lips, and he ignored the way his heart thudded a little harder. 

Shifting his head along the pillow, he looked to where Marta still slumbered peacefully beside him. Ransom struggled to take a breath as he looked at her peaceful expression, her olive skin so smooth, lips plump and inviting. Beautiful, innocent, but _God_ did she have a fire in her. The longer he lay there admiring her, the less he could stand it. The ache in his chest quickly became beat out by the one in his loins after he watched her supple chest rise and fall too many times, nipples cutting through the thin fabric of her night shirt in taunt. 

He shifted closer to her, nudging her onto her side so he could press his body against her back. His groin twitched as it nudged against her backside, now clothed in simple black lace that teased far more than it hid. Unconsciously, she moaned at the added warmth, his strong arms winding around her to pull them flush together. A breath stuttered out from him once she shifted, like a cat stretching in its sleepiness, her body writhing and nuzzling against him in search of further comfort.

His hand splayed over her hip, his heavy grip massaging between scraping lace and silky skin. Fingers tracing her thigh, Ransom dug his other arm beneath her ribs, trapping his arm, but allowing his hand to map the curve of her breast through its cotton protection. She groaned when his hips rolled against her rear, a little bolt of pleasure racing through her as he traced her hardened nipple with a single finger. The press of cotton against her sensitive flesh had her tingling, and her leg jerked when his hand slid over her inner thigh. The multitude of sensations roused her quickly, and before she was completely ready.

Another sleepy moan escaped her as she arched against him, though she finally realized how trapped she was when his hands gripped tightly around her clothed breast and between her legs. His fingers flexed, expertly stroking her slit through the lace. She choked at the unexpected pressure, the scalloped material scratching where the press of his fingers teased. She writhed, bucking into his hand and against his hardening cock beautifully. Groaning himself, Ransom pressed his lips to her throat and nipped her beneath her ear. The shiver that ran through her body delighted him, as did the answering goose bumps shooting to life across her skin.

“Ransom,” she moaned sleepily, shifting in his arms to try and face him. Her lashes fluttered as the scent of him overwhelmed her, cinnamon and fire warming her almost as much as his body did. He caught one of her hands with the arm she now had pinned under he back, their fingers entwining while his other hand fluidly lifted her leg over his hip.

“Hm?” he asked, fingers smoothing back up her inner thigh toward the stretched lace again. Whatever she’d been about to say choked in the back of her throat when he pressed two fingers against her center and stroked the crease of her folds from clit to her already wetting entrance. He repeated the motion before a breathy chuckle escaped him. “You know, not that I’m complaining… but I’m a little surprised you let me sleep with you last night.” Even groggy and lust-dazed, she could detect the question in his voice.

Humming blissfully, Marta’s lashes fluttered before she forced her dilated eyes to focus on Ransom. She rubbed the side of her face to try and stimulate life in more places than just her groin, but that didn’t stop her quick mind from reminding, “You said you wanted me to tame you.” Studying his face, a lazy smile quirked her lips when she noted, “Good bitch boys get to sleep in the bed.” He stilled, irritation threatening to sour his mood, until Marta laughed. Light, unburdened, the airy, girlish sound lit her face up with a delighted smile.

Stumped by her beauty, Ransom huffed and narrowed his eyes. Instead of jumping down her throat, he dubiously drawled, “Oh. I’m a good boy now, am I?”

“You’re good at something,” Marta purred, a throaty groan escaping her when his fingers pressed themselves a little deeper into her lace covering. He chortled lightly, head tipping in both admiration and amusement.

“And you’re a bad girl,” he taunted back, prying his arm from underneath her so he could plant his hand into the bed and hover over her. His other hand curled around her panties, fingers twisting beneath the protective layer to sink into her dripping entrance. Ransom exhaled as his fingers slid through a perfect pool, her walls still tight despite how recently he’d fucked her. He studied her face as she gasped silently, the pleasurable stimulation not completely removing the confusion from her gaze. 

He hadn’t been able to say it last night, too ravenous for her after being denied so many times. Now, he hovered his lips near hers, fingers pumping into her slowly as he murmured, “I told you you’d get off on the adrenaline rush.” She leered at him through half-lidded eyes, annoyed he’d suggest she had any love for the high-intensity situations he put her in.

“You’ve proven nothing, except that I can _maybe_ forgive a murderous beast.”

“Maybe?”

“That depends on you- _oh!_ ” She writhed, her back arching as he hooked his fingers inside her, her voice tapering off in a whimper that hid his indignant _hmph_. He had enough of talking, so pressed onto his knees and hooked his hands around her underwear. Her juices smeared against her hip as he dragged them down and off her ankles, tossing it somewhere haphazardly. He heard it plop to the floor while he shifted forward and scooped his hands beneath her rear. The second his tongue flattened between her folds, Marta's whole body sang to life, her nerves firing with little bolts of pleasure.

He lathered her up swift and mercilessly, the pressure of his tongue as it swirled around her clit and dipped into her entrance maddeningly perfect. Her breath grew ragged quickly, stroking his ego as it did his dick. His erection strained against his dark boxers, so he tugged them down his hips. Once he sprang free impatiently, he pushed up onto his knees to properly rid the garment and kick it to join Marta’s panties on the floor. He crawled over her, pausing when she bit her nails into his abs, forcing them to flex, and hiked her legs around his hips.

Muting his surprise, he chuckled a little and taunted, “Well aren’t you an eager little mouse.”

“Shut up and fuck me, Ransom.” The way she said it had a bolt of rabid want throbbing through his cock, swift and sharp. Demanding as the words themselves were, she said it softly, encouraging and with a hint of her own desperation that made his name sound more like a prayer than a curse.

Breath growling from him, he bowed forward and snagged her lips in a ragged kiss. Her breath hitched, chin tipping up to deepen the sweet pressure connecting them. He pulled back just as sharply, lining the head of his cock up with her opening. Unlike the day before, he slid in easily and bottomed out with a simple, smooth stroke. Their groans mingled together in the small space between them. Ransom’s knuckles curled into the mattress as his body tingled from the connection. Marta’s legs gripped higher around his waist, drawing him in like some Venus flytrap. He bowed at his elbows, settling over her while his hips gave a languid buck, dragging his length through her walls in sinful bliss.

Marta’s nails dug into his muscular back for purchase as he thrust into her in a slow, euphoric grind. He mouthed at her collar, and up the length of her neck, before he caught her quickening pulse point between his teeth and sucked. She yipped harshly and tried to jerk away, eliciting a wet chuckle from the man before he slammed into her for good measure. She couldn’t even think to scold him for being so pleased with himself after that, and he gave her no time to recover before his hands gripped her legs and pried them off his hips.

It was only so he could more easily flip them over, his hand steadying at Marta’s hips, and she suddenly found herself straddling his. Jarred, her lips parted as she looked down at the sculpted expanse of his body, until bright blue eyes stole her attention. His devilish smile took her breath away, until his _mouth_ ruined it all by saying, “A wild stallion needs to be ridden to be tamed, right?”

He clearly found himself charming, evident by his haughty chuckle and self-satisfied grin. Pausing, Marta scoffed at him and rolled her eyes. “You’re an asshole, and a beast… and apparently full of _cheese_ ,” she corrected flatly.

“Mice like cheese,” he tried again, earning an incredulous and puzzled expression from Marta. Rolling his own eyes at how difficult she was being, he instead demanded, “Shut up and get bouncing, Beautiful.” His hand clapped to one perky ass cheek as he said it, and his arrogant smirk returned when she chirped and set her hands to his chest to catch herself from the unexpected hit. Her cheeks flushed immediately, but she lowered her gaze to the space between them.

Gripping him around his shaft, which was already slick with her juices, she realigned them and eased herself back onto his cock. A satisfied sigh left them both once he’d filled her back up to the brim. Ransom curled one arm behind his head to better watch as she pushed onto her knees and sunk back down, the slippery slide of her tight channel over his cock as beautiful a sight as it was pleasurable to feel. His other hand remained against her hip, the flex of her thighs each time she bounced atop him making his fingers twitch. 

He finally brought his hand to his mouth and licked his thumb. He interrupted the smooth rhythm Marta had picked up by flattening his hand against her stomach and brushing his thumb against her clit. Moaning, her hips stuttered. Their skin slapped together as she stalled, his cock burrowed inside her while she ground against his thumb and rocked their pelvises together. A low growl left him at how her walls danced against him, and he nudged his hips up to get her moving again. With a ragged breath, she canted her hips up and continued her ride.

His thumb didn’t stop gently stroking her, and he bit into his bottom lip while watching her tits bounce with every wild buck of her hips. He could feel her reaching her climax as much as he could see it building on her strung out expression, her eyes glassy and cheeks flushed beautifully. And then she canted her head back, ready to ride the wave of her orgasm while howling to the moon, which had something dangerous flashing in Ransom’s dilated blue eyes.

His hand lifted from her clit to her throat, strong fingers latching around the elegant length of it so he could yank her forward, forcing her to bow over him until their faces were level again and he could watch her come undone. Mirth glinted in his eyes as her breath rattled through his tight grip, her blackened eyes wide and ruby lips agape. A strangled cry ripped from her as her muscles tightened, ecstasy flooding through her and drenching his cock with her climax. His fingers finally released her throat so she could gasp more easily in the aftermath, but both his hands repositioned themselves at her hips. 

She didn’t notice his mischievous smile until it was too late. His feet planted into the bed, so he could pitch his hips up. Fingers gripping tight around her hips, it was easy for his muscles to lift her petite figure up, and yank her back down while his hips pistoned his cock into her. Each time he slammed into her, a short yip puffed out of her, encouraging him to buck faster and harder each time. The sweat slicking their skin only made them clap together louder, the lewd squelch of her drenched folds being drilled into mercilessly creating an erotic symphony of it all.

“Oh, God – I can’t,” Marta whimpered, her fingers clawing into the headboard and Ransom’s chest to keep herself balanced while he fucked her senseless. Her body trembled, the fire blazing through her system turning white hot and sinful all too quickly. Her walls clenched, muscles growing paralyzed in rapture as she came harder than she ever had in her life. He didn’t slow a fraction, which kept her writhing in her climax until her eyes popped wide and she gasped, “I can’t stop – R-Ransom, I can’t stop.”

A scream finally tore from her throat, her body turning into a singular live-wire nerve that blinded her from anything but the overwhelming bliss. Snarling deep in his throat, Ransom rammed into her a final time and finally tumbled into nirvana with her, his body turning to rock with the pulse of his orgasm. Trembling in euphoria, they both finally collapsed together, the tension sighing out from their bodies in unison. Ransom’s eyes fluttered closed, his nose buried in Marta’s hair from where she’d collapsed onto his chest. Her hair smelled of honey and citrus, and the sweat threatening to cement them together didn’t take away from the comfort of her scent. 

A dying pulse from his softening erection jolted both of them out of the haze. Gasping, Marta lurched a little and immediately groaned. Ransom chuckled, his own voice strained from the sensitivity in his skin. It took a little effort (more with how haggard they both felt), but they managed to shift Marta onto her side so they could properly separate. Breathing out a sigh, she shut her eyes again, giving Ransom a moment to admire how fucked out she looked. Skin glazed and shiny with sweat, hair a wild, but sexy mess, cheeks flushed, lips red, thighs slicked - _God_. He felt his dick twitch valiantly, pleading to go a second round.

Instead, he went for the tissue box on the desk. They cleaned up enough to make the trip to the bathroom less hazardous. Marta groaned her protest as Ransom dragged her up by the arm. Chuckling, he encouraged, “It’ll make you feel better.” It didn’t. It didn’t because the second Marta had steamy water soaking her body, Ransom picked her up and flattened her back to the cold glass wall. She felt like she was about to fall to pieces by the time he finally had his fill, and set her to her own two feet. He kept an arm around her for a few moments with how weak and shaky her legs felt, her body so over-stimulated she felt almost numb.

“When you said you were going to _’break me’_ , I didn’t think you meant physically,” she panted finally, her voice raspy after so many moans and strangled whimpers. Ransom chortled again, his grin satisfied and arrogant. Admiration still shined in his blue eyes, something strangely full and satisfying settling in his chest hearing her joke so easily about his ultimatum. 

“Are you really complaining?”

“I might be. I wanted to go to the publishing company today.” After wrapping a towel around her figure, she paused before the mirror. Squinting through the fog against it, she quickly swiped a hand through the steamed barrier and howled at the dark blotches peppering her neck, and the red bite marks against her collar. “Ransom!” Twisting around, she threw him a scathing look. “Are you a teenager?!”

His face schooled innocently, and she hated how beautiful he looked with his bright eyes and wildly spiked hair. “No. Apparently I’m a _beast_ , and beasts bite,” he taunted dryly, though humor still tinged his voice. She rolled her eyes at him before she looked at herself in the mirror and whined a complaint in Spanish. Apparently, she’d have to stick to turtlenecks and scarves for a little while. They entered her room, though Ransom quickly left to find new clothes in his own. It gave Marta an opportunity to look at the mussed sheets, and their clothes strewn about the room. 

_God, I must be crazy._ She felt it, but not at the same time. She knew logically how wrong this was, but she didn’t feel torn up about it, not the way she had over hiding Harlan’s non-murder. Honestly, her lack of fear in this scared her the most, and proved to be the source of her confusion. Swallowing against her dried throat, she let out a long, weary sigh and collected a purple turtleneck and jeans out of her drawers. Most of her clothes had been stacked inside the furniture now, organized how she liked, so she found what she needed quickly and dressed.

She met Ransom in the hallway, and he instantly looked miffed to see her neck covered up so effectively. “You have a marking kink,” Marta realized, lifting her chin before she huffed at him. “You _are_ a beast.” A charming smirk graced Ransom’s lips as he moved for her and circled his arm around her waist. He tugged her against him, and forced her back to bow as he pressed his lips against her ear. 

“What can I say? I like to flaunt what’s mine,” he growled, the deep rumble of his voice sending a bolt of desire straight to Marta’s still aching loins. Flushing, she shoved at his chest and glowered at him. Smiling impishly, he leered at her pouting bottom lip, still swollen from all their activity. She twisted away and marched off before he could act. They picked up a late breakfast on their way to Blood Like Wine Publishing, which existed midway between Harlan’s estate and downtown Boston. 

She’d only been to it once before in the days after things had settled, when all the transfers from Harlan’s will were being finalized. There were two parts to the headquarter office. The larger side of the building was the actual publishing factory, which handled most of the work for printing every book. On the other side, there was an office where Harlan’s staff – book agents, editors, cover artists, and the like – worked their day to day.

They entered the latter part, the big glass door swinging heavily behind the two. A few people recognized Ransom, and stilled at seeing him trail Marta into the big office up the stairs. Once belonging to Walt, there were still remnants of his reign all around. A forgotten coffee mug that hadn’t been cleaned, a picture of his family (which Ransom immediately sneered at), a couple manuscripts with his notations bookmarked in them, and one of his jackets all littered the heavily paper-cluttered room. Ransom whistled as he looked around the train wreck of an office. 

“No wonder granddad gave him the boot,” he muttered, mostly to himself. Marta ignored him as she grabbed the unread mail sitting centerfold on the desk. A few were overhead bills needing to be paid for the property, some was simply junk mail, but a thick white envelope with Netflix as the sender had her pausing. She opened it and found several neatly stacked pages inside, a simple note set atop.

_Hello Miss Cabrera,_

_Congratulations on your new fortune and empire, though my condolences for the circumstances that lead to it. I’d drafted this contract up for Walt Thrombey back when he was President of the company, so I wanted to send it to you for review. I look forward to doing business with you._

Brows knitting, she read the signature line for a Theo Lamberty, VP of TV Production at Netflix. Setting the note aside, Marta scanned the contract he’d sent, her fingers flipping through it curiously. Her focus caught Ransom’s attention. “What is it?” he asked, while picking up the note she’d set atop a stack of papers. The contents had him scoffing. “Well he’s overconfident, don’t you think?” He glanced up at Marta, who was trying to wrap her brain around all the jargon Lamberty had used. Ransom held his hand out and asked, “Can I see?”

Marta handed it over since her head was starting to hurt. A tight frown sat on her face as she watched Ransom flip through the contract, his brows furrowed as he skimmed the proposal. Another scoff left him, though this one was far more derisive than before. “Wow this is a complete rip off. Is this the guy that’s been leaving you messages?”

“Yes.”

“Call him back.”

“What?”

“Call him back and say you read the contract.”

“But I-“

“Just do it. I wanna hear what he says.” Marta glared at him incredulously, but opted to listen to the request. She felt a little guilt that out of all her messages, this was one of the first she chose to respond to outside of her mother, but she tried not to think about it as the dial tone hummed in her ear.

“Miss Cabrera. So glad we could finally connect,” a smarmy, gravelly voice crooned with faux charm.

“Mister… Lamberty?”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“I…” she glanced toward Ransom before reciting, “read the contract.”

“And?”

“I’m not sure I understand much.”

“Oh, well that’s alright,” the executive placated, “we can walk through it together, if you like. The most important piece is, of course, that it’ll make you a very rich woman.”

“I’m already a very rich woman,” Marta corrected almost lazily. Ransom snorted at the unexpectedly sharp wit, which had her waving him off as Mr. Lamberty stuttered.

“Err – yes. Rich _er_ , then.” Ransom moved in behind her, his imposing presence causing her to flinch momentarily. He steadied her with a hand at her hip, and leaned into her back to reach for a pen and paper on the desk. In thin, loping pen strokes, he jotted out _call lawyer hang up._ Marta’s brows furrowed as she read the message, but after a beat, she got the meaning.

“I’ll call my lawyer and get back to you.”

“That sounds fine, Miss Cabrera. Talk soon.” When they hung up, Marta shifted to glance over her shoulder at Ransom. A lazy smirk quirked one side of his lips. He shuffled back a few steps and waggled his finger in the air.

“First tactic to good negotiations. Stall them from getting what they want while making them feel like it’s right in their grasp. Gives ‘em a false sense of security they’ll be desperate to keep in later conversations,” Ransom explained, though… she couldn’t say she understood. Briefly, she wondered if that’s how he thought about his interactions with her, but she had a better, more practical question for the time being.

“You think Alan would know about this?”

“Maybe, but I wouldn’t trust him either.”

“So you made me lie?!” she gaped, stomach threatening to churn at the very thought. Ransom chuckled as he approached her again.

“Not at all. You said you’d call your lawyer. You didn’t say what about,” he teased her, placating her stomach as he tapped the tip of her nose with his finger. She jerked her head back, which had another huff escaping him before he folded his hands inside his coat’s pockets. “I’ll help you with this,” he added, glancing toward the contract.

“You know about this?” Marta asked, a little surprised. Ransom hummed, nodding absently.

“I studied business management in college,” he shared, twisting around in idle boredom – or what seemed like idle boredom until Marta noticed the way his shoulders tensed. “Mom made me take something practical, to help with the family business. Or whatever. Most of it is no brainer bullshit, so it fit my party lifestyle at least. But as far as understanding that crap?” He tilted his chin and nodded in the direction of the contract again and said, “Yeah it helped.” He swiveled on his nice loafers to face her again before he reiterated, “I can help.”

“Like you helped me before?” Marta said it before she could think it through, but she found solace in the question. Ransom had been helpful lately, yes, but a part of her clung to the two-faced image that had promised to be a friend one day, and sold her out for murder the next. She watched Ransom’s smile sharpen emptily. 

“I should’ve, shouldn’t I?” he noted absently, though his stark gaze remained locked with her deceptively hazel eyes, “done what I told you at that bar. Helped you get away with murder, just taken the inheritance and run off with you.” Marta’s brows furrowed as she kept his gaze, her lips tugging into a deeper frown the more she thought about his strange words – both touching and cold all at once. She hadn’t known that was possible before Ransom.

“No, Ransom. You never should’ve done what you did in the first place,” she corrected quietly. He huffed, lips quirking humorously before he stepped forward and cupped the edge of her jaw with tender fingers.

“If I hadn’t, we never would’ve gotten here,” he murmured. 

She searched his gaze for a moment before she whispered back, “I could’ve.” They both felt the weight of that, and Ransom’s crystal eyes grew cloudy as he was forced to acknowledge, _I couldn’t_. With the flaw forced solely on him, he withdrew, leaving an odd tension between the two of them, which Marta promptly ignored by looking down at her phone. She finally recognized the date. 

“Ransom… it’s Christmas in a couple days.”

“So?”

“So I need to see my family.”

“Why?” He asked it so judgmentally that her eyes snapped up to his face. He couldn’t tell whether she looked more accosted or hurt, and she infuriatingly kept her mouth shut as she grilled him with those puppy eyes. His chest constricted uncomfortably, causing him to growl out a frustrated sigh and groan, “Fine. If you really think it’s worth subjecting your family and me to each other, then fine.” Instead of realizing how _bad_ an idea that was like he expected, Marta perked up and stepped toward him. She pressed onto her toes and smothered his lips in a kiss so passionate, he went a little dizzy. 

A breathless puff left him once she drew back, and the dazzling glint in her eyes left him speechless as she walked out of the office like she owned the place. The fact that she _did_ wasn’t nearly as impactful as her light, uplifting presence – one that made Ransom’s heart feel like it could flutter away, and he suspected for a moment that he’d caught a glimpse of what his granddad had become so invested in – and he didn’t know what else to do but follow in the shadow of that light.


	17. Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marta wants to make sure the holiday is done right with her family, which leads to a surprise encounter and an even more surprising revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect this chapter. It just happened :O

“We need to go pick up gifts,” Marta said the following morning.

“Why? Just online order with express shipping.” Again, she stared at him with a flat, incredulous expression. 

“That’s not what Christmas is about,” she protested, earning a condescending snort from Ransom.

“It abso-fucking-lutely is. You buy useless shit, for people you hardly care about, just so you can pat yourself on the back for being a semi-decent human being for ten minutes. It’s bullshit. Why waste perfectly good time on that when you can just click a button?”

“Something tells me you don’t even ‘waste the money’, Mister Scrooge,” Marta chastised. Ransom held his cup of coffee up to her in salute of that. She shook her head at him, before arguing, “It’s Christmas Eve, Ransom. Even with express shipping, it wouldn’t arrive in time for tomorrow. I want to go look in town.” He ignored her, opting to sip his coffee and scroll through whatever the hell he was reading on his phone instead of paying attention to her. Her eyes narrowed. “You have nothing better to do today.”

“Sure I do. Watch TV, nap, maybe fuck you against the kitchen island while dinner’s cooking.” A wolfish smile grew across his lips as he watched her expression with a hungry glint in his eyes. Her body shuddered under the predatory stare, but she kept her expression schooled.

“And what makes you think I’ll want to fuck you if we don’t go?” she jested back. His brows lifted in mocking surprise. 

“And if we do?”

“Well… if you take me to find gifts, that would be very nice,” she murmured as she strolled toward his seat. Her heart fluttered a little watching the look in his eyes darken with carnal interest. Keeping her smile at bay, she teased him, “That would make you a good boy. And good boys get gifts.” She set her hands against his shoulders, excitement twitching to life within her at how tense he felt. A moment later, he chuckled a little and wrapped his arms around her, dragging her down atop his lap. 

“You’re really embracing this temptress thing,” he taunted her, arm scooping beneath her legs to keep her trapped and curled up in his lap. “It’s sexy,” he purred, tipping forward to brush their noses together. His vibrant eyes searched hers, before he added, “But I’ve been a bad boy my whole life. It suits me, and it clearly works for you. Besides, it’s going to be a fucking mad house out there.”

“I think it’ll be fun,” Marta corrected, her head pillowing against his large bicep. She looked up at him through her long lashes, and he spotted the dewy look in her big, beautiful eyes for what it was.

“Puppy dog eyes now, huh?” he huffed, amazed by her dirty tricks. She batted her lashes a few time, a secretive smile tugging her plump lips, and Ransom felt his heart twist unexpectedly. _Fuck._ Lips parting, he studied her serene, sweet expression for another moment, before growling out a breath. Rolling his eyes at himself, he muttered, “Don’t say I never did anything for you.” Her smile brightened, twinkling straight into her eyes, which brought the hidden green hues out in them. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself up, crushing their lips together in a heady kiss. 

They didn’t make it out of the house for another hour, and when they did, Marta had a new hickey at the base of her neck. The thick white scarf she wore hid it from the world as they settled in the beamer and headed into town. They hit the main streets of the Boston area suburb within 15 minutes. Unsurprisingly, Ransom drove them toward the “downtown” shops and mall, but Marta saw something as they passed by one of the town parks that had her perking up. 

“Wait. Stop, stop!” she barked, hands planted to the window as she leaned into it. Ransom’s attention jerked toward her, before he obediently swerved the car toward the curb and parked. Several other cars remained stationed in made up parking spots along the street’s side, and looking past Marta’s obstructing head revealed why.

A Christmas fair of sorts had been set up in the public space, white tents with decorations hanging off them lined up with people selling their personalized holiday gifts and decorations. One of the town Christmas trees stood at the epicenter of the park, and life-size decorations of reindeers, snowmen, and captivating lights filled the rest of the space, creating intricate and beautiful walkways through the usually open space.

“Fuuuuuck me,” Ransom drawled to himself, his eyes rolling dramatically while Marta gripped the door handle and got out of the car. Growling out a sigh, he unbuckled and followed after her, his irritable tension already rising thanks to the crowd shuffling through the winter fair like lost sheep.

Halfway across the field, Marta finally paused and twisted toward him. “You… didn’t call another photographer, did you?” Her hesitant (and _late_ ) inquiry had him chuckling.

“Well, if I did… this wouldn’t’ve been where I sent them,” he drawled, lips pursing disapprovingly. Marta damn near pouted, her glazed eyes uncertain (and frankly irritatingly beautiful). Another exasperated sigh left Ransom before he griped, “No, alright? I’m one and done on that. If any show up here and now, it’s because of something else.” She accepted that, drawing up to her full height to nod curtly. They continued their trek over to the action, and Ransom curled his lip at the sudden sound of _It’s The Most Wonderful Time of Year_ crooning around the bustle of last minute shoppers, venders, and all around Christmas lovers.

Everyone besides him.

His idle disinterest seemed to balance Marta’s sudden exuberance. Her eyes twinkled, and her smile couldn’t be contained as she slowly led them through the throng of people. She dutifully studied each little booth they passed by, inspecting key chains and handmade jewelry, funky little handbags, and beautifully patterned scarves. Ransom’s bored gaze followed her, but his unsuspecting attention honed in on a piece of fabric Marta’s fingers toyed with. She massaged the silky shawl for a moment, smiling fondly, before ultimately passing it up.

Ransom glanced toward Marta, then back to the stand, and back again. He couldn’t bring himself to walk away from the damn thing, it’s sapphire color mottled with a pattern of black and white blotches. Blotches that almost looked like oval stones. 

A mosaic. 

Teeth gritting, he growled irritably and stepped forward to make a purchase he already almost regretted. Marta didn’t even notice, too enthralled by the fair. She stopped across the path to buy a new phone case for her sister, the pretty deco-art plastic immediately making her think of Alice. She thanked the vender with exuberance before she moved on. Her eyes continued to admire every stand she passed by, smile never wavering. 

She paused again by a booth with handmade wooden frames. Thinking Mama might like something nice to put a new picture in, she stepped closer to inspect the polished wood and carved patterns.

“Hello Marta.” Marta’s heart skipped a beat at the familiarly roguish voice, and she twisted around to meet kind blue eyes and an old, but soothing smile. 

“Benoit!” She thought nothing of it as she hugged him. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, Detective Elliot invited me to the police department’s Christmas party tomorrow. Came in to town to look for somethin’ for the boys, found this lovely street fair,” Benoit drawled fancifully. Marta hummed, nodding absently as she went back to smiling at the merchandise. Choosing a slender, dark wooden frame with vines carved into the sides, she handed it off to the cashier for purchase. While the stout woman on the other side rang her up, Benoit asked her, “Say, you wouldn’t want to come be my date would you?”

“What?” Marta chuckled breathlessly, her eyes flickering toward him incredulously as she passed $30 worth of cash over to the wood carver.

“It’d be weird being there without my Watson,” he teased, though he leaned forward hopefully. She chuckled again and shook her head.

“No, I can’t. I’m going to visit my family,” she explained while accepting her change and the bag with her purchase.

“Ah, yes of course.” Marta didn’t realize how weighted the silence was as she thanked the woman and wished her a Merry Christmas. As she stepped away from the tent, Benoit shifted with her and asked, “Are you bringing Mister Drysdale to your Christmas?”

“Yes. Ransom and I are-“ _Ransom_. Where was Ransom?!

Marta froze, her eyes widening to saucers as she looked around. Panic thundered through her heart, her chest clenching tightly enough that she couldn’t breathe. She suddenly felt doomed, like the mouse that could sense the cat hiding in the field, but couldn’t see it until it was too late. She couldn’t hear Benoit when he called her name, and the crowd suddenly seemed to be swirling out of control until a hand clamped down on her shoulder.

Then, all she saw was blue.

A breath wheezed into her lungs, and her head bowed toward Ransom’s chest as he snaked his fingers beneath her hair to caress the back of her neck. His smoky scent had her swooning for a completely different reason, but his fingers clamped down on her neck a little harder to hold her steady. His sharp eyes flickered over to Benoit as he said, “Blanc. Are you stalking us now?”

“Despite what you believe, Mister Drysdale, the world doesn’t revolve around you,” Blanc retorted sharply. Chuffing, Ransom twisted Marta so he was in the way of her and Blanc, and moved to guide them off when Benoit grabbed his free arm. Jerked back, their eyes met with steel and ice, and Benoit practically snarled when he asked, “What did you do to her?”

Looming forward slightly, Ransom cockily taunted, “Nothing she didn’t want.” He watched fury tinge Benoit’s cheeks, the angry desire to strike him clouding the old man’s eyes. Ransom nearly smirked, the glint in his leer egging for it. He’d press charges so fast- but then fingers curled around his arm from the other side.

“Ransom,” Marta called quietly, tugging on his coat sleeve as her blush grew hot and humiliating. His glower remained on Benoit another moment, before he winked salaciously and wrenched his arm away from the PI. He curled his hand with Marta’s free one, her small bag of presents secured in the other. Plastic band wrapped around her knuckles, she brought her hand to Ransom’s forearm as she twisted to glance over her shoulder at Benoit. His jaw clenched as he watched them go, and she could see his desire to follow them until Ransom tugged on her arm harder. 

They picked up their pace, heading toward the beamer until a decently sized oak tree in their path had Ransom detouring. Just as they passed its thick trunk, Ransom twisted on her and shoved her up against it. “What did you tell him?” he demanded, eyes blazing as he loomed over her, fingers digging into her shoulders the same way they had the first night he’d kidnapped her. Even her puffy coat couldn’t keep her from feeling the tingling promise – or perhaps it was the memory – of bruises.

Her breath rattled.

“Nothing. Nothing! He invited me to a Christmas party, and I said no. I wouldn’t have gone. I wasn’t trying anything. I-I just-“ _there_ it was. The desperation, the need. A Cheshire grin bloomed across Ransom’s lips, his eyes frosted with glee, pupils dilating ravenously for this moment. Terrified she’d angered him, frantic to fix it, Ransom felt his heart soar with triumph while Marta suddenly felt like his fingertips were the only things keeping her from crumbling at his feet. 

His lips crushed against hers to give her something else to ground her, fingertips easing so his hands could wander. An involuntary groan left her as one hand cupped her hair to the back of her neck, the other snaking lower and beneath her coat to massage above her hip. She sunk into the kiss, the comfort of his soft lips and firm body nearly causing her to melt. His knee pressed between her legs to give her something else to brace her in place, and Ransom felt his dick twitch when the friction elicited a strangled mewl from her.

 _God_ , he wanted to fuck her against that tree, ruin this stupid fucking fair by making her scream in ecstasy while he pounded her into the bark. He tore away from the kiss though, panting his want like an animal in heat as he searched her dazed eyes and promised, “I know, Beautiful.” His hand pet the length of her hair, and he lowered his head to level their gazes before he said, “I trust you.” Her eyes glazed, and this close he could hear the whimper hitch at the back of her throat. He drowned her confusion and sorrows away with another lush kiss, before he finally tore away from her and lead her back to the beamer. 

Marta couldn’t shake her confusion though, and the nip in the cooled off car brought reality into hyper-focus. Her terror had come on swift and harsh when Ransom had disappeared, but she couldn’t fully place why. Fear for herself? For others? For Ransom himself? All of the above, perhaps, or maybe it was none of that at all. All she knew for certain was she’d been terrified something bad would happen, felt relieved when it didn’t, and then damn near high when Ransom’s soft lips smothered her own. 

As the mansion came into view, Marta glanced over at Ransom and realized maybe she’d never escaped that dungeon at all. Her new cage wasn’t confined by any bars or walls, chains or locks. Electric blue eyes and a dreamy smile now held her in place, the devil within not enough to keep her from succumbing to whatever twisted hold he had on her. When they got inside and Ransom crowded her up against the door, she remembered why she didn’t care.

He wasn’t the only one who saw desperation and need. His mystified blue eyes searched her almost reverently as he unwound the scarf from around her neck. As the marks he left on her skin came into sight, his mouth watered. He bowed forward to brush his lips against the dark hickey at her pulse point, smiling when he felt it flutter. She gasped, desire flooding through her in a growing storm. He murmured something against her skin she couldn’t quite hear, before he mouthed her jawline and cupped his hands beneath her rear. He lifted her up, balancing her at his waist, looked up at her like she was the goddamn sun as he carried her toward the nearest couch, and Marta felt her chest swell powerfully.

As their coats fell to the floor, her little bag of presents along with it, and Ransom sunk down atop her, compressing her into the couch, it wasn’t fear she felt. Elation, security, and strength all swelled together inside her, making the lust she felt both warm and overpowering. Her legs tangled around his hips as he rolled against her, their lips met in an ardent kiss as their heated fingertips slipped beneath clothes for more.

The only thought Marta had through that heat wave of passion was, _Maybe he is a beast of a man, but he’s mine… and I am his._


	18. Christmas Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ransom finally meets Marta's family, and an unexpected visitor arrives (apparently I love these).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pure plot and character development, and it grew into a monster on me :awkward shrug:
> 
> MILD warnings for this chapter: mentions of verbal and emotional abuse (very mild and indirect), drug use, and racism. Just wanted to give a heads up.

The chill in the air that morning had Marta reluctant to leave her covers. She shivered a little and curled up, pinching her eyes closed to avoid the pale sunlight. Her leg heated under the pressure of Ransom’s hand settling against her thigh, a fire building between their skin as he shifted closer. It didn’t take long for their passion to burn into an inferno that made waking both easier and harder; easier because of the warmth seeped into her body, harder because of how sore and relaxed she suddenly felt.

Somehow, they managed to roll out of bed, and were ready to leave – with their meager batch of presents and all – just after lunch. Ransom paused in the extensive oval driveway, his eyes narrowed and peering up at the brick mansion. Marta paused by the passenger door of his car. When he didn’t move for an elongated moment, she finally asked, “What?”

“Nothing. Just…” he trailed off with an empty huff. Shaking his head, he simply relayed, “Our Christmases were always at this house.” Strangely melancholy, Ransom shifted stiffly toward his car. Marta couldn’t help staring at him, his random vulnerability when it came to his family, and particularly his grandfather, hard for her to stomach, yet harder for her to ignore. Brows knitting, her thick bottom lip threatened to pout, when he caught the look and scowled.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine,” he griped, squaring his shoulders as if to prove as much. A callous, breathy laugh escaped him then, before he pushed, “Trust me, I’d much rather never see my family again.” _So would I,_ Marta thought. She couldn’t say they brought any joy to her life now. Even with the reconciliation she’d made with Meg, she wouldn’t be sad if they never saw each other again.

They slipped into the car and headed off, the engine moaning and rattling worse than usual due to the lack of warm up Ransom had given it on that brisk day. Marta shivered a little and curled into her puffy coat, a scarf wrapped around the turtleneck she had underneath providing her multiple layers (and for more than just the chill). Her gloved hands rubbed together between her knees to try and stimulate further warmth. As they turned onto the long road that lead into town, Marta huffed and bowed her head.

“I must be crazy,” she murmured thoughtfully.

“Yeah. Must be,” Ransom agreed facetiously. Smirking subtly, he glanced across at Marta and finally asked, “What for in this specific scenario?”

“Taking you to my family’s house for Christmas.”

“Ah.” He nodded idly, gaze trained on the road. “Well, that’s what the expensive whiskey is for,” he said, nodding his chin toward the black paper-wrapped bottle resting between Marta’s feet. She scoffed at him.

“Uh huh,” she murmured absently, knowing the “gift” was more for him than anyone else. She didn’t speak again, but the closer they drew to her family home, the more nervous she grew. Her family knew everything at this point, until she’d become a ghost over the last several weeks. Now, she didn’t entirely know what to expect, and Ransom’s chaotic energy wasn’t bound to help. Despite how warm the car had finally grown, she still couldn’t stop fidgeting, alerting Ransom to her anxiety.

“It’ll be fine,” he prompted her, catching her gaze briefly. Shrugging, he added, “Can’t be worse than my family, right?” She huffed lamely, but didn’t answer.

To Ransom’s great surprise, it was _exactly_ like his family. At least at first.

The second they walked into the small, two-story condo, Marta’s mother surged forward and slapped Ransom so hard against his cheek, his head cracked to the side. “Mama!” Marta gasped, hand covering her mouth as she looked to Ransom’s reddening cheek. His skin prickled angrily, stung straight into his eyes, which glazed over a little as he leered down at the small, but fierce momma bear sneering in his face.

“That’s for hurting my daughter, you-“ a string of cusses flew from her lips, and Ransom’s head tipped back from the ferocity in her voice, even though he couldn’t understand a word of it. “And if you _ever_ touch her again-“ the twinkle that next comment brought to Ransom’s eyes had Marta quickly reaching a hand out to smother his lips with her fingers. She felt his lips curve into a wicked smile beneath her palm, but she ignored it to twist on her mother. 

“It’s okay, Mama,” she murmured, her other hand settling atop the older woman’s shoulder to placate and plead for peace. “I’d never bring him here if I thought he was a danger to us now.” Dark eyes flickered toward Marta, a telling glint in them as she waited. The fact that Marta didn’t get sick proved she believed it, and that damn near broke her mother’s heart. 

“Ay, Mija,” Mama moaned, her hands shaking together in dismay before she proved what her hands really wanted to do by claiming, “I could slap you, too.” Shaking her head, she set her hand to her own cheek instead and shuffled off, a string of Spanish expletives and whimpering prayers still mumbling from her. Ransom almost laughed. 

“I like your mother,” he murmured, lips quirking humorously. When Mama didn’t seem ready to stop her dramatic tirades, however, he sighed and noted rather obviously, “She hates me, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah. Yeah, she does.”

Alice looked between the two of them incessantly for a few moments while they shed their coats and shoes in the entryway, before her dark eyes settled on Marta. Shaking her head a little, she waved her index finger toward Ransom (her phone still delicately poised in the same hand), and asked, “Isn’t he, like… still a murderer?” 

“I was acquitted,” Ransom interjected. Alice’s lip curled as she glowered at him like he was an idiot.

“But you still did it,” she retorted sharply. Brows flickering, Ransom shrugged. He didn’t engage further, and instead lifted up his wrapped gift.

“I brought expensive whiskey,” he pivoted, and felt a little pleased when Alice’s borderline disgusted expression perked up with interest.

“Now you’re talkin’,” Alice purred, swiveling on her heel to bounce toward the kitchen. Glancing toward Marta, Ransom pursed his lips and tipped his head in an uncertain shrug before he followed after Alice. Marta watched him move for a moment. She’d never realized how big and imposing Ransom was before, not like this. In Harlan’s mansion, in his own, he fit the space – the grandeur and ambiance of it all. Now, here in her family’s humble little abode, he seemed so much larger. 

A beast out of place in a burrow.

She smiled a little at that, huffing to herself as she slowly trailed after the others. She paused in the doorway of the kitchen, looking in on her mother, head tipped over the stove while she worked on Christmas dinner. Alice drew a few of their nicer glasses out from the cupboards, setting them down on the counter while Ransom opened his treasured bottle of Dalmore 45. Mama glanced toward them, and didn’t like what she saw. While brandishing a wooden spoon, she barked at Alice, “Ah! Who said you could have any of that?!”

“Maaaaa, it’s Christmas!” the youngest protested, looking to her mother imploringly.

“One. You can have _one_ ,” Mama agreed reluctantly, before she turned back to the stove, allowing Alice to contort her face into a mocking scowl in imitation of their mother. Ransom glanced toward Marta for context, his clueless expression kind of adorable. 

“Alice just turned twenty,” she explained over a breathy laugh.

“Oh. You’re around Meg’s age,” Ransom noted as he cracked a few ice cubes he’d helped himself to from the freezer into their glasses. “You two could be friends.”

“Uh, no. I have no interest in getting involved with your sick family,” Alice rejected, shaking her head. Ransom laughed.

“You’re smarter than your sister.”

“Duh.”

Oh God. Were they actually getting along? Marta’s stomach flipped unexpectedly, heart throbbing as she watched the two. This felt like some sick dream come true she didn’t even know she had. She scratched at her thin purple turtleneck nervously, and accepted the glass Ransom handed off to her a little more readily than she might’ve a minute ago.

Mama held enough animosity for them all anyway. For the moment, they all feigned ignorance to it for the sake of the day. Mama kept her attention on her cooking while the other three sipped the expensive alcohol Ransom brought. Alice and Ransom both looked appeased by the rich amber beverage. Marta never really understood the draw to brands or price tags – in any day life, really, but alcohol especially. Alcohol was alcohol; it all tasted the same, though the bite to this one certainly wasn’t as harsh as most whiskeys she’d had in the past.

“Dinner’s gonna take forever. We should open presents now,” Alice remarked, her dark eyes glinting excitable as any kid. As she passed by Marta to get back into the living room, her pointer finger flicked against her sister’s arm. “You better have gotten us some good gifts,” she teased, entirely serious. Marta huffed and shook her head.

“Paying off all your loans and leftover tuition wasn’t enough?” she drawled back. Alice scoffed at her, but excitably grabbed the present she’d gotten Marta from its resting place under the tree. They had a standard, _fake_ Christmas tree set up in the corner of the room, the lights and fake balls all tacky, but endeared items they’d collected over the years. The brightly wrapped Christmas present was the most festive thing about the abode, though a few porcelain Santa Clauses and angels were set out on various surfaces in the small living room.

Marta smiled as she accepted the large rectangular present from her sister. Her eyes flickered toward Ransom as he sat at the far end of the couch, a silent, idle observer of the two women standing before the tree. He looked strangely stiff, similar to how he’d been in those moments before the will reading, restless and uncomfortable even as he sipped down his whiskey. She frowned a little, unsure what to make of it, and more than a little aware of how handsome he made angst look.

She shifted her focus onto passing her sister the bundled gift she’d chosen. In no rush to open her own, she stood there and watched Alice unwrap the two-part package. The first, smaller rectangle was the new phone case she’d bought at the fair, and the second was a soft cover book, the pages slightly worn but well-kept considering their age and use. Marta smiled as she looked at the cover art of _The Badger_. Lip curling slightly, Alice tipped it and looked up at Marta in question.

“It reminded me of that show you were watching around Thanksgiving. You know the one with-“

“Yeah,” Alice assured, nodding her along. Marta smiled warmly. She’d never really cared about the bloody murder show Alice had been watching, but her family’s sensitivity to her felt reassuring here and now.

“I think you’ll like it,” Marta finished as Ransom glanced over and balked a little at the book.

“Is that his First Edition?” Ransom asked, recognizing the cover art _wasn’t_ that of the mass-produced version. 

“Is it?” Alice huffed, tipping her head as she inspected the book a little more closely. “This’d probably sell for a hell of a lot of money, right?” Ransom’s face grew stony, though his eyes reflected his anger. Even Marta stiffened, her brow quirking once her sister looked up and realized her insensitivity. “Sssorry,” she mumbled, awkwardly moving the book before her chest apologetically. She kept her sister’s gaze while promising, “I’ll read it and give it back.”

“It’s a gift, Alice. You can do what you want with it… after you read it.” The sisters shared subtle smiles, and moved on to Marta’s present reveal. Ransom… didn’t know what to make of the moment. His personal feelings about the book – which unfortunately Marta, and now Alice, could do whatever the hell they wanted with – aside, he’d never seen a tense moment pass by with such grace and ease before. His family tended to use opportunities like that to create bigger problems and louder fights, but the two seemed at peace with whatever had just transpired between them.

He didn’t get it, and found himself watching them more closely as Marta opened a cardboard box full of pretty new shirts, their brand tags a little nicer than Marta usually tended to wear. Alice smiled happily as she looked at the soft blue, purple, and green hues she knew would compliment her sister’s skin well. Nudging toward them, she declared, “To replace some of those ugly old lady sweaters you wear.” Ransom snorted into his drink, nearly inhaling whiskey up the back of his throat at the unexpected jab. Marta glowered at her sister, but offered a smile a moment later.

“Thank you.” She set the box down beneath the tree again for the time being, and moved to grab her mother’s gift. Bringing it into the kitchen, she quietly said, “For you, Mama,” as she held the gift out. Her mother spared a brief glower to her, before she went back to stirring her traditional Christmas chicken soup, Ajiaco.

“Just leave it there,” she muttered, nodding toward the only empty space on the small counter. Smile wavering, Marta nodded and set the gift down, before retreating back to the living room. She glanced toward Ransom and smiled slightly. Collecting her glass of whiskey, she moved for her coat and brought out a plain white envelope. As she eased into a seat beside his languid figure, she passed the envelope off.

“What’s this?” he asked, perking up as he accepted the note. She didn’t answer, just curled her knees into herself and tucked her cheek to them as she watched him. Huffing a little, he set his whiskey down on the end table beside the couch and bowed forward to open the envelope. Inside was nothing but a sheet of cardboard, and a check made out to him for one million dollars. His jaw fell a little slack, eyes widening as he scanned every zero, before he looked toward Marta. A small, amused smile quirked her lips.

“This isn’t for our non-bet, or to pay your lawyer. If you want to see it that way, then fine… but _I_ choose to see what you did for my mother as a gift. And so, this is my gift to you,” she explained sweetly. Glancing toward the check, she shrugged her shoulders and added, “I don’t know what else you care about as much as money.”

“Right,” Ransom huffed, feeling a bit like he’d just been slapped. His strange tone had Marta studying him for a moment as he stared at the check, before a charming, practiced smile curved his lips. Meeting her gaze, he said more sincerely, “Thanks.” She nodded, and silently took a sip of her whiskey as he got up to put the check away in his coat.

He glanced up, leering uncertainly at Alice lying on her stomach on the floor while she set her new phone case on the device. “Alice!” her mother suddenly called, earning a sigh and a rolling pair of eyes from the young woman. She pushed up from her place to head into the kitchen, and Ransom felt one last moment of hesitance seize his limbs before he pulled a small box the size of his palm out his large coat pocket. He approached Marta and nearly threw it at her face when she perked up and caught the awkwardly passed off gift.

It was her turn to ask, “What’s this?” Ransom’s lips remained pulled in a tight line as he sat down and hoarded his drink toward his chest like his life depended on it. Brows furrowing, Marta huffed a little and set to opening the package. His blue eyes flickered toward her, but he couldn’t bring himself to fully look at her, not until the lid was open and her fingers pinched around the sapphire shawl. Eyes brightening, she lifted it up to look over the pretty pattern, her smile making Ransom’s heart flutter.

“I saw you looking at it at that dumb fair yesterday,” he explained gruffly, before he got stuck. He didn’t know how to say the stupid thing made him think of her, and he hadn’t been able to let it go. Shifting awkwardly, he rapped a finger against his own knee and lamely muttered, “It suits you.” God, he felt like an idiot. He’d never done this before, given a gift with thought and purpose, and the gift itself was so fucking stupid he felt his cheeks and ears sting with embarrassment. 

But Marta’s smile sparkled like he’d given her a damn diamond necklace. She reached out to touch his heated cheek, and said, “Thank you. I love it,” and he felt like a million angry butterflies were suddenly trying to burst out of his ribcage. She drew him forward and pressed their lips together in a gentle, sweet kiss.

“Marta,” her mother called, bloody murder in her voice.

“Coming, Mama,” Marta called. She offered Ransom one last smile before she lifted from the couch to join her family in the kitchen. Ransom blew out a heavy breath, and met the deadly glower of the old broad’s face once Marta was safely away from him, her scowl holding as much venom and sharpened knives as any Thrombey. He nearly laughed. 

~*~

“There’s no room for him,” Mama griped, still glaring daggers at Ransom as they all started to fill their plates. Their kitchen only had three chairs, because the table needed to remain wedged against the wall to fit.

“That’s alright, Mama. We’ll eat in the living room,” Marta promised, ignoring how her mother soured further. 

“It’s okay. I can eat over the counter,” Ransom suggested instead, shocking Marta into gaping at him.

“What? Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said, laughing lightly, “we’re here so you can spend time with your family.” It was Marta’s turn to have her heart race through a flood of unexpected endearment. She blinked, her cheeks growing rosy as she took her plate of stuffed pork and cheesy fritters to the table and sat between her mother and sister. A small bowl of soup helped round out the otherwise heavy Christmas dinner. Marta’s mother said grace in Spanish, which Ransom ignored to try the piping hot meal. Before she’d fully said the end of her _amen_ , Ransom interrupted the prayer with a shocked, borderline lewd groan.

“Wow, this is good,” he hummed, pointing his fork toward the pork appraisingly. Mama glowered at him, but she couldn’t fully hide the pride from her eyes. Ransom awarded himself the brownie points Ms. Cabrera wouldn’t.

“That’s high praise, Mama. Ransom’s a good cook,” Marta shared, smiling naively until she earned her mother’s incredulous stare. She shrunk a little as Mama guffawed. Ransom rolled his eyes, but was smart enough not to pipe up… until Mama started scolding Marta. 

“Mija, you’re smarter than this. You’re _better_ than this! What the hell are you doing running around with the killer white boy?! Getting caught on camera like some – some-“

“Some new age, serial killer groupie?” Alice offered sassily. 

“Alice,” Marta griped, a little insulted by her sister’s words. Even Mama glared at the youngest, but Ransom caught all their attentions with a heavy sigh, his spoon clattering back into the bowl of soup.

“Look,” he growled, gripping his refreshed drink before he faced the intimate female family. He glanced to Marta, took in her startled, uncertain doe eyes. A ghostly smirk quirked one corner of his lips, before he shifted his expression to her family. “I understand why both of you’d hate my guts. Let’s be honest, I deserve it, but…” he trailed off, eyes glazing with convincing, heart-wrenching sincerity as he looked to Marta’s mother. “I _am_ sorry for what I’ve done to your daughter, Ms. Cabrera. She didn’t deserve my family’s poison to be spewed at her. And I… I’m trying to make a mends for that.”

Awed, Marta felt like her whole damn body was about to melt out of her chair, and all she could think was, _God damn it_. She actually believed him. _Again_.

Mama didn’t, and maybe that was a good thing, because Marta couldn’t wipe the dewy expression from her face. “You hurt my baby again, I’ll kill you myself,” Mama told him, earning a wolfish smirk from Ransom.

“I don’t doubt it,” he teased back, earning a harsh huff from Mama. She shook her head, before they all went back to enjoying their meal. The tension lingered, and while it had lessened, Alice found herself shifting uncomfortably soon enough.

“So how was Colombia?” she asked to break the silence. Before Marta could stiffen at the question, Ransom huffed.

“Hot,” he drawled, before slurping up another spoonful of soup. Surprised, Alice looked from him to her sister.

“He went with you?” she asked, causing Marta to still one more time. She took a breath, and then knew exactly what to say to keep her food down. 

“I was with Ransom this whole time,” she shared, nodding to her own words. Lips pursing, she added, “It’s why I didn’t reach out much.”

 _You’re getting better at this,_ she told herself. A brief glance to Ransom revealed he thought the same, the prideful twinkle in his eyes and arrogant smirk muted only by the pointed sip of whiskey he took. After swallowing, he helped her along by adding, “While we were figuring out what was going on between us, we didn’t want any outside influence.” Mama scoffed.

“Something tells me that was more you than Marta,” the old woman chided. Ransom held his glass up in cheer of that, but Marta couldn’t let this go so easily.

“He’s helped me, Mama. With your immigration case.”

“ _How_?”

“With information that can help our lawyer,” Marta explained patiently. A flicker of fear passed through her mother’s eyes, causing Marta to wonder if she’d made a mistake for a moment.

“What information?” Marta’s breath got caught by the question.

“Just some info that can help speed the process along,” Ransom provided, taking the vague stance Marta couldn’t. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Ms. Keller is very nice, Mama,” Marta added, before her mother could raise her hackles at Ransom’s dismissive answer. “She’ll call us soon, and then you can meet her, and hear all about what we’ve been working on for you.” She reached out and squeezed her mother’s hand, damn near praying for her paranoid tension to lessen. Mama was too stubborn to give it up entirely, but her shoulders eased, and she let the conversation fall away so they could all finish enjoying their suppers.

~*~

Snow started to fall around dusk. Marta watched the tranquil flurries instead of the Christmas movie quietly playing on the TV. Not knowing or caring what it was either, Ransom looked toward Marta and smiled a little. “So how am I doing?” he asked, his tone bright with a knowing sense of amusement. She shifted her head lazily, chin tipped to her still curled knees and eyes narrowed on him.

“Suspiciously well,” she answered frankly. His smile grew. Reaching forward, Ransom brushed his hand against the edge of her cheek, dragging her ebony hair along with the motion to tuck behind her ear. His fingers skimmed lower, wrapping beneath her chin to lift it enough so he could dip forward and kiss her. 

“Ew,” Alice grunted, drawing the two apart quickly. Marta looked at her, and immediately perked up at the rectangular box she had tucked under her arm. Ransom noticed it as Alice took a seat on the floor, legs crossed in a pretzel before her as she set the game on the carpet in front of her.

“Scrabble, huh?”

“Yeah.” 

“Alice and I play every Christmas,” Marta offered as more of an explanation, lips quirking fondly as she watched her sister set the game up. “Mama made us play when we were younger, to help with our vocabulary. Now, it’s tradition.”

“Am I allowed to crash in on the tradition?” he asked, looking to Alice in particular. She paused, lifting her head up to peer at him in scrutiny. Then, she scoffed and looked back to the game.

“Yeah. Sure. Why not? Nothing like a Christmas Scrabble game with a murderer.”

Marta and Ransom both slid onto the floor to join Alice around the Scrabble board. Again, Marta found herself surprised as she watched Ransom stretch his legs out to one side, a single, bulky arm keeping his torso up while he tipped the whiskey to his lips with his other hand. He really was doing suspiciously well. He remained quiet and docile, never once complaining about the small, low-income townhouse or exacerbating her family’s mistrust of him. It was… very unlike him, truth be told, but Marta wasn’t about to complain for the time being. 

“So…” Alice drawled while inspecting her letters, “did you ever want to be anything more than a spoiled rich boy?” Ransom chuckled idly.

“Sure I did.” It’s all he cared to share while he arranged his own set of seven letters. Both women looked up at him, patiently curious. Licking his lips together, he shrugged and shared, “When I was a kid, I wanted to be a writer like my grandfather.” He saw Marta’s genuine surprise and smirked ruefully. “Oh yeah, he definitely liked that. I remember it made him smile… and then when we went home, my mom told me everything I wrote was trash, so to never expect to be like him.” 

Marta’s stomach dropped, and she abruptly focused on her own turn while Ransom shared more; “In high school, I thought about learning how to be a mechanic, so I could restore old cars - like the one I have out front. And my dad told me men like us didn’t do hard labor like that, so if I wanted to act like an ape I could sleep with the cars I wanted to work on so much.” He licked his lips and chuckled. “And then I thought about law or something with criminology briefly – I obviously have a knack for it,” he droned on, gaze briefly flickering to Marta.

Pursing his lips, he shrugged and surmised, “But then a kid at school introduced me to coke and I realized I already had enough money to do whatever the fuck I want, so might as well not waste my time on anything serious.” Marta’s heart ached for him, and for the first time, she _really_ wondered why Ransom had turned out the way he did, what it must have been like growing up with unsupportive and uncaring people. Alice gaped at him for a moment, before she snorted derisively.

“Wow. The poor rich white boy has such serious problems,” she chided, before she focused on the board and set out the word ‘water’. A ghostly, lopsided smile graced Ransom’s face.

“You’re the rich one now, aren’t you?” 

“And yet, we still live here,” Alice griped, rolling her eyes.

“Once Mama’s position is more secure, we’ll move,” Marta reminded her sister. Alice harrumphed and checked her phone while Marta set ‘tired’ horizontally across Alice’s word. While Ransom scoped the board, Alice clicked her tongue and growled irritably.

“Yo, this dumb bitch,” she snarled, pushing up from how she’d sprawled out on her stomach. Marta eyed her uncertainly.

“What’s going on?”

“Just some online troll talking mad shit about us, goes by the name of JT1488.”

“Oh that’s Jacob. My cousin,” Ransom realized, his little wooden letters clicking against the board as he set down ‘drink’ using the ‘d’ Marta had just put down. Blue eyes flickered up to Alice, his lashes batting as he mockingly addressed, “He’s a Nazi. I ask you which one of us is worse.”

Jabbing a finger toward him, Alice retorted, “Debatable. But you brought me whiskey and this asshole is calling me a disease-infested, money-grubbing whore to half the Internet! I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin him.”

“Don’t engage with him, Alice!” Marta scolded instead.

“She’s right. It’s not worth the breath,” Ransom agreed. He knew better than most. He’d heard from his halfwit cousin when the paparazzi photos “leaked” to the media a week ago. Jacob had some colorful words to say about that situation too, from how disgusting Ransom was for picking up their grandfather’s sloppy seconds to how he’d rot in hell for touching the ‘dirty anchor baby’. Peppered into the tirade of texts he’d gotten was his obvious belief that Ransom’s plan to get their inheritance back wouldn’t work.

All Ransom had said in response was, _If you knew a thing about sex, you’d know how dumb you sound. Take your mom’s pearls out of your ass. I got this._

Now, it seemed Jacob was taking matters into his own hands in a way. _Dumb fucking kid,_ Ransom thought, shaking his head. Dumb kid for a dumb, awful family. 

~*~

Mama paused their slow-moving game of Scrabble for hojuelas and hot chocolate, another tradition within the Cabrera household. Ransom had to admit it felt far nicer than his own filled with politics, arguments, and caviar. He licked a bit of whipped cream off his hot cocoa, before scooping a bit onto his finger, only to brush a messy dollop onto Marta’s nose. She chirped and giggled at the unexpected assault, earning a breathy chortle from Ransom. 

Her family stared at her peculiarly, both unnerved and curious over her strangely light attitude, but she couldn’t tear her twinkling eyes away from Ransom. Not until he vacated their vicinity for the bathroom. A moment later, the doorbell rang. “I got it,” Marta called, since she was the closest. She finished wiping whipped cream from her nose, a laugh still bubbling up the back of her throat while she approached the front door. The second she opened it, her face fell.

“Walt?” she breathed, brows pinching in confusion as she looked at the bitter old man, his figure looking even more haggard beneath his thick coat. Snow speckled his hair and shoulders, and he swayed a little over his cane. The heavy breath he blew toward her face gave away that alcohol was the culprit. Marta gripped the door handle a little harder, and kept her body wedged wholly in the small space she’d opened with the door. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Marta. Forgive the intrusion,” Walt slurred, tipping up against the molding of the door. It allowed him to loom over her, but for as much as she wanted to shy away, she kept her position to keep Walt out on the townhouse’s front porch. “I just,” he chuckled emptily, and then tipped his head up to regard Marta sharply. “Why aren’t you at dad’s mansion?” His cane tapped to the hollow wood twice, impatiently. “Our Christmases were always at that house. Now I’m hosting Donna’s family at our place, and oh-“ he grumbled unintelligible for a few moments, his eyes rolling heavily. Another listless chuckle left him.

“You think we’re bad, you should sit with them for an hour. You know, ever since I lost the publishing company-“ his slurring got worse, but somehow she still managed to understand him – “and the fortune, her dad’s been complaining on how wrong a choice she made. Shouldda gone with that investment banker prick – what was his name again…”

“Walt, I think you should leave,” Marta said once Walt started to grumble under his breath again. Anger blazed to life in the man’s face then.

“What right do you have to shunt me when I-“ Walt’s rant cut off before he could really get started when the door suddenly wrenched open. Yipping, Marta stumbled to the side thanks to her grip on the door handle, allowing an utterly infuriated Ransom to breeze by her.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here, Walt?!” he barked, muscles rippling with his fury. He had his fist clutched in Walt’s jacket in a second, damn near lifting the man clean off his feet as he pushed him backward across the porch.

“Ransom!” Marta shouted, racing forward to catch him. She didn’t make it before Ransom shoved Walt backward, tossing him over the drop of the steps. Even if he were sober, Walt’s bad leg would’ve prevented him from taking the push gracefully. As he collapsed onto the snow-dusted ground and yelped, Marta’s hands clamped around Ransom’s sweater sleeve. “Ransom, stop it-“

He turned on her, his pretty blue eyes blazing brighter than lightening. Marta’s eyes widened, fear erupting through her with enough force to paralyze her. All she could suddenly see was the moment Ransom had hurled himself at her, bloodlust in his eyes and a knife in hand. Something else flashed through his eyes here and now, his lips drawing into a thin line at the obvious horror paling her face, but he tore away from her. 

His footsteps thundered down each step as he neared Walt, too drunk and in pain to figure out how to move much past where Ransom had tossed him. Ransom picked up the cane he’d lost, and for a second, all he could picture was bashing his uncle’s head in with it. He didn’t really get off on violence. His attempted murders (and successes) were all done for a purpose; cold, calculated means to the end he wanted. He didn’t care enough about anything to find enjoyment in pain. 

But Walt? He might get some sick satisfaction making that sanctimonious asshole squeal.

Instead, he crouched across from Walt’s sprawled figure, and stuck the handle of the cane beneath his chin. He pressed, forcing Walt’s head to tilt up while threatening to choke him if he moved the wrong way. Once their eyes locked, Ransom growled, “ _I’m warning you_ , Walt.” Considering the last person he’d uttered that to was now dead, the threat carried nicely. He watched his uncle’s gaze flicker with involuntary fear before he carried on. “Don’t come back here again. Don’t come to the mansion, or the publishing company. Don’t try to contact Marta at all. Hell, don’t even fucking think of her.”

Walt’s lip curled irritably, so Ransom pushed the cane against his jugular harder, nearly tipping the older man onto his back. “Got it?” he demanded louder. 

A whimper hitched in the back of Walt’s throat, before he hoarsely grunted, “Yes.”

“Good. Get the fuck out of here before I call the cops to arrest you for drunk driving and harassment,” Ransom snapped, before he tossed the cane a few feet away to force Walt to fetch it for himself. Lifting to his feet, he turned his back on his blood and leapt up the steps back to Marta. She was still frozen, her expression still a little ghostly. He softened a little, and set his hand to her shoulder. She flinched, eyes blinking rapidly as she looked up at him. He swallowed, before he murmured, “Get back inside. He won’t bother you again.” 

Her brows furrowed, but she let Ransom push her back to toward the house. Mama and Alice scurried back quickly, making themselves scarce all of a sudden. When the heat of her family home blasted her in the face, her heart thundered to life with bubbling fury. “You didn’t have to do that,” she snapped quietly, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“Excu-“ Ransom caught himself, though his lip twitched irritably as he glowered at the withdrawn woman. “Come on, Marta. You were practically shaking in the doorway!” She fidgeted now, unable to calm her nerves. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she looked up at Ransom with an unreadable look in her eye. Tears threatened to glaze her eyes, so she took a deep breath and clenched her jaw.

“We should go,” she breathed, nodding her head sharply. She nodded it toward the door a moment later, swaying from foot to foot as she added, “Once he’s gone. We’re leaving.” She couldn’t stop her mind from spinning, and didn’t want to be around her family any longer. She dutifully finished her hot chocolate with them, though her joy from earlier was absent. She couldn’t stop thinking about Ransom, how he shifted like the tides – from an almost tender Prince Charming to a cold-hearted Beast.

“I’ll be back soon,” Marta promised while hugging her mother goodbye a little while later. Mama was reluctant to let her go, and when she finally relinquished her hold, she pressed a small porcelain angel in the palm of Marta's hand. "Mama-"

"Take it, Mija. Please, for me. Something to watch over you against that _demonio blanco_ ," she growled, her death glower remaining trained on Ransom. 

"Mama," Marta chided, shaking her head. She accepted the little relic however, clutching it close as they left the home and approached the beamer, which Ransom had kindly started warming up a few minutes ago. Before reaching the passenger door, Marta paused and twisted toward him. “Is all of this an act?” she asked plainly. Brows knitting, she shook her head and wondered, “Is any of it real?” She set her hand against his cheek, searching his stormy blue eyes. “You have so many faces… I don’t know if any of them are the real you, or just empty masks you use to hide.”

He couldn’t answer her, not really. Even his wit dried up when faced with such brutal honestly. Shockingly, it made him want to do the same, which is how he somehow found himself admitting, “I don’t know either.” Marta huffed, and one corner of her lips quirked in a melancholy smile. She shook her head and bowed away from him, reaching for the car door, leaving Ransom to feel as cold and quiet as the snow still falling around them.


	19. Trust Is A Funny Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas drags up some questions for Ransom and Marta that they have to face, and the outside world seems unwilling to stop knocking on their twisted little fairy tale bubble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's like... feelings, and smut, and plot in this chapter xD Enjoy.
> 
> Happy Belated Valentines Day.
> 
> EDIT: Mostly for those of you who may be rereading, I edited a line into one of their conversations. I may end up tweaking this chapter here and there, and will update if I do, because I'm crazy like that and like to try and perfect every scene. Much as I like this chapter, I think there's room for improvements. :shrugs:

They slept in separate rooms that night. Marta needed time to process, and frankly… so did Ransom. He stared at the check Marta gave him, eyes glazed and chest empty of the strange flutters and warm surges he’d felt over the last several days. Letting the check fall to his chest, his lashes fluttered as he stared at the ceiling and searched his conflicted thoughts.

The plan? The plan was to make Marta fall in love with him, take his inheritance back, and ruin her fucking life. He was already halfway there. She clearly had feelings for him. The media wasn’t going to let go of their affair any time soon, especially not if it got dragged into a civil court case. She’d be a laughing stock for falling in love with her would-be murderer. She’d become nothing more than the girl who’d taken it all, and given it away like a moron. He’d rub it in his family’s fucking faces, and go down in the history books as just another entitled schmuck who’d played the system and won, but damn it at least he’d have everything he wanted. 

He’d seen it all so clearly in his head, just as he had the events of Harlan Thrombey’s demise.

The kicker? He’d known from the second he started this he could lose all over again, that it’d go the same goddamn way it had last time Marta Cabrera was forced to play his game, and he’d played the stakes anyway.

Because the thing was Ransom knew he loved Marta. He’d known from the second he looked up at her on that balcony that she was under his skin, the new epicenter of his life. He knew he’d go to the same damn lengths to have her as he would getting his inheritance back. He loved her the same way he did his car though, in a peripheral, possessive sort of way that made him want to ride her fast and hard, and give her a pat when she performed how he wanted. 

But _this_? The fluttery stomach, the warmth, his aching heart – he hadn’t expected _any_ of this. How his veins felt on fire, and body so alight he wanted to fly. And suddenly that clear picture he had of the money, of ripping Marta to goddamn pieces and laughing over her defeated form, it all seemed so fuzzy. Half of him just wanted to lock them back up in that room and make her moan his name, and the other half just… wanted to talk to her. See that stupidly beautiful smile on her face, hear her laugh, feel her lips on his, smell her sweet scent surrounding him.

God… damn it. 

He didn’t sleep for a second that night, and some time before dawn he lifted from his bed. He crossed the hallway and opened Marta’s door as quietly as he could. The old wood still creaked, and he winced a little before he caught Marta staring at the door, just as awake as he was. Pausing, he straightened up as they stared at one another, the dark house providing little ability for them to see one another’s expression. 

Ransom swallowed thickly and stepped into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. One of the dogs whimpered, but rolled over to continue his slumber. Marta’s dark eyes glinted through the darkness, and she kept a steady eye on Ransom as he crept forward. He paused by the edge of the bed, searching her the same way she studied him. Eventually, she shifted a little, inching toward one side of the bed to make room. He didn’t hesitate to lift the covers and crawl in beside her.

“Did you sleep?” he asked. She shook her head, the pillow ruffling each time her head moved.

“No,” she confirmed, unsure if he could see her well enough. Jutting her chin up, she looked him over intently before she theorized, “Something tells me you didn’t either.” He shook his head, but didn’t respond. He spent a few anxious moments adjusting the quilt over his legs, before finally easing his head down to the other pillow. Taking a deep breath, his lashes fluttered as her heavenly scent invaded his nose, stuck to the bed sheets to torment him beautifully. He didn’t know what to say. His chest felt strangely tight, and he didn’t know how to go about lessening it. 

“Your family seemed surprised by us,” Ransom finally noted, quiet and inquisitive.

“Can you blame them?” Marta answered just as heavily. He huffed.

“Not because of what I’ve done – that’s a given. I mean the way they looked at us when we interacted… like they were surprised to see you so…” he trailed off, searching the dark room for the right word. When he couldn’t find it, he shifted his head to look at her and said instead, “You’re the extra serious one, huh?”

“Someone had to be,” Marta murmured, lips drawing into a frown. Her eyes blinked tiredly, and she stretched before she added, “Mama’s opportunities are limited, and Alice is only just becoming an adult.”

“So you take care of everyone,” Ransom summarized, eyes narrowing dubiously. “Don’t you get tired of that?”

“It’s better than being like you. Only caring for yourself and nothing else.” Again, Ransom felt a bit like he’d just been slapped, which was a stupid reaction when he’d openly admit it was true. The tension in his chest worsened though, and he felt so bothered by the comment that he pushed himself up onto one of his elbows and hovered over her. 

“Do you still believe that?” he asked, a hint of desperation in his otherwise ruggedly quiet tone. She didn’t answer, and Ransom felt the focal point of his discomfort bubbling up his throat. What he’d seen in her eyes after he’d attacked Walt, how tense she remained even though she remained lying in bed next to him now. “Do you trust me?”

“Should I?” The air felt thick between them, cold and ominous. Neither dared move too much, as if afraid to break this timid peace and bring an avalanche down on their heads. After a moment of deafening silence, Marta asked instead, “Would you in my position?”

“No… but you’re not me, Marta. You’re not like anyone-“ silencing himself, Ransom’s lips thinned into a tight line. Suddenly, the cold seemed inviting. He pushed up from bed swiftly, startling Marta enough that she sat upright.

“Where are you going?”

“To let the dogs out,” he muttered, before he waved his hand toward the slumbering shepherds and barked, “come on!” They jerked to attention, rising to their haunches to follow him out of the room. Once downstairs and outside, Ransom puffed out a foggy breath. The cold stinging against his face and trying to prickle through his sweater felt like a breath of fresh air. He rubbed a hand through his hair, his loafers shuffling over the stone terrace until he reached the edge. 

The dogs had left tracks in the fresh coat of snow on the ground. The flurries had stopped, but the dark clouds above – only just starting to gray with morning’s light – told of more to come. Where he looked into the coming light for answers he was unlikely to find, Marta stared through the dark, empty house. Her uncertainty weighed a little more potently in her heart, and it took courage for her to rise and follow Ransom’s disquiet. 

She knew it stemmed from the same place, so she grabbed a thick wool cardigan, wrapped it around her figure, and joined him on the terrace. Even with his back turned toward her, she found herself admiring his beauty. Broad shoulders, a sculpted back she could make out even through his thick cable knit, a perfectly rounded ass. His imposing stature fit the crumbling stones and gray-drenched world beyond him.

Once she pulled herself away from her reverence, she murmured, “You scared me yesterday… when you went after Walt.” 

“I know.”

“All I saw was that man who came at me with a knife.” Ransom sighed heavily, his head bowing. He twisted around slowly and looked at her, studying her hunched figure, cardigan drawn tightly around her and pinned in place by her crossed arms. Everything about her looked stiff and jittery, like a little mouse readying to dart into the brush. 

“I told you I wouldn’t hurt you again, Marta,” he murmured. He could see it reflecting in her dewy eyes, reluctance and desire in conflict over if she should believe him. She shifted from foot to foot, the cold starting to seep through her slippers.

“You went after him because of me,” she recounted. Her eyes narrowed peculiarly. Ransom took a subconscious step forward, curious what was running through her mind. “Would you do it again?”

“Probably.” He took another slow step toward her. “My family doesn’t get to hurt you anymore either.” He watched her eyes glaze over, the conflict in them growing more apparent as he stepped before her. His height made it far too easy to loom over her, her neck craning back to hold his steadfast gaze.

“But it’s not just them. You threatened to kill Benoit. He wouldn’t have hurt me.”

“Hmm but he would’ve tried to take you away from me, and I can’t have that either, Beautiful,” Ransom grumbled, his fingers cupping her jaw. She shuddered, some horrible part of her finding his words far more appealing than she would’ve liked. 

“So that’s it? Anyone gets in your way, or threatens me, and you just… go beast-mode?!” The way Marta’s accent punched out her last words, and how her nose scrunched up in her irritation had Ransom barking an unexpected laugh. Her plump bottom lip protruded in an unhappy pout, and he nearly growled as his eyes slanted toward it, honing in with vigor.

“I guess so, yeah,” he murmured, thumb reaching up to trace the curve of her lower lip.

“Even my family?” His thumb froze at the crest of her mouth. Bright blue eyes lifted to lock with her expectant gaze. He had to take a moment, because honestly? Yeah, he would. She’d walk away from him though, and he couldn’t have that when all he wanted was to drag her against him to combat the cold.

Instead, he said, “Hurting your family would hurt you, right?”

“Hurting anyone would hurt me,” she protested. Ransom rolled his eyes.

“You’re such a saint,” he drawled facetiously, his thumb continuing its trace of her mouth.

“It’s not that,” she corrected, keeping her softened eyes transfixed with his. She tipped forward into his touch a little, the tingle his thumb brought to life along her skin beginning to lull her. Shallow breaths parted her lips further, and want throbbed through her core when he hooked his thumb tighter over her bottom lip. Setting her own hand against his wrist, she stilled him for a moment so she could explain, “If you hurt someone, that endangers you. You got caught last time, Ransom. And you only got out of it because of money and luck. The cops have it out for you now… and if anything happened to you, that’d hurt me, too.”

Lips still parted, Marta slipped her tongue out to lick Ransom’s thumb pad. The slow, wet grind of her velvety tongue had his eyes lust-blown in a heartbeat. His breath hitched as her teeth bit around his finger teasingly, those big, beautiful eyes still watching him intently. Gripping the rest of his fingers around her chin, he drove her back through the terrace door. Something deep and powerful swelled within his chest, turning the tension he’d had before into a supernova.

He crushed their lips together to incinerate her along with him, the pressure building between them lighting the sweetest sensation ablaze through their veins. She tilted her head as her tongue brushed against his, her nails biting into his cable knit sweater to deepen their impassioned embrace. Ransom’s arms circled around her, dragging her flush against him. Her petite figure felt almost weightless to him, but her warm, supple curves still had him groaning as they writhed against one another. 

Since the hallway wasn’t much better than outside, Ransom reluctantly broke away to call the dogs in and shut the door. They retreated upstairs and back to bed to continue what they started, the silent, dark room that surrounded them feeling so much less ominous than before. Passion consumed them, making quick work of their clothes so greedy hands and starved lips could have their fill. Fill being a relative term, of course, because they really couldn’t seem to get enough of each other. By the time they finally finished ravishing each other to the brink, the snow had started to fall again.

~*~

Later in the day, the house had warmed from more than just their rigorous fornication. With coffee brewed, the oven dissipating heat from the quiche Ransom had baked for breakfast (brunch, really, and Marta had gotten damn near hangry enough to tear his head off until she’d eaten it and practically gone to heaven), and a fire roaring in the largest common room, their limbs had come to life. 

Marta cupped her coffee in both hands still, legs curled up beneath the cable knit she’d willingly stolen from Ransom after their tryst. A serene smile graced her lips as she watched the fireplace, Ransom’s careful tending having filled it with healthy flames. “You like fire, don’t you?” she noted, smile broadening a little. Ransom hummed in acknowledgment. “Explains how the lab took on so much damage.”

“Yeah. Let’s just be grateful Jacob doesn’t have the same skill,” Ransom muttered, jabbing the iron poker into the flames one last time to help them continue breathing before he drew back. He joined Marta on the sofa, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders to draw her against his side while they looked for something to watch. The snow showed no sign of stopping, and both were far too happy to curl under a felt blanket and lounge the day away. 

A buzzing phone brought their attention to the coffee table. Theo Lamberty’s name flashed over Marta’s screen, which had her subtly frowning. Ransom laughed. “Guy’s dedicated, I’ll give him that,” he muttered. Marta started to lift, but didn’t get far when Ransom’s arm tightened around her. She glanced toward him when he encouraged, “Let this one go to voicemail, then call him a little later.”

“And say what? I still don’t know why that contract is a ‘rip off’.”

“It takes too many rights away from Harlan’s stories, lets Netflix take the creative liberties to do whatever the hell they want with them, but still reap the benefit of his famous name and titles,” Ransom explained. He shrugged. “You basically just have to tell him you’re not willing to sign the present contract, and will only consider signing one if more provisions are outlined for the TV rights versus the story rights. And maybe suggest having someone from Blood Like Wine on the production team as a requirement.”

“You _are_ good at this,” Marta realized, her brows lifting. 

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Ransom griped, his eyes narrowing on her. A smile curved her pretty lips, and he pinched her cheek for good measure. It earned him a giggle. They spent some time watching TV before Ransom’s curiosity piqued. Nudging Marta with his arm, he nodded his chin toward her phone and encouraged, “Alright, call him back now. I think he’s sweat long enough.” He chuckled, clearly entertained by the possibility.

Reluctantly, Marta uncurled her legs from beneath Ransom’s sweater. As she shifted forward to reach for her phone, Ransom’s gaze trailed lower, to where the shifting blankets revealed a teasing patch of olive skin. Abruptly reminded that she wasn’t wearing any pants, Ransom suddenly couldn’t think of anything else. His head tilted, eyes lifting inconspicuously up to Marta’s face again. He watched her redial Lamberty’s number and set the phone to her ear.

“Miss Cabrera. I’m so glad you called,” Lamberty schmoozed the second he picked up.

“Hell- _oh_ -“ Marta’s heart lurched into her throat, eyes popping wide as she looked to Ransom with a gaping mouth. His hand had moved under the covers so swiftly, she hadn’t realized she was in any danger until his fingers were suddenly cupped around her warm center. They sat against the curve of her skin, the almost ticklish pressure heating the area instantly.

“Err, are you alright Miss Cabrera?” Lamberty’s voice echoed in her ear. She couldn’t tear her focus away from Ransom’s devilish half-smirk, not until he tipped his head and nodded as a means to say, _Go on_. She took a breath, and he immediately made it hitch when his fingertips pressed into her folds in search of her dewy, far more sensitive entrance. He managed to slip a single finger inside of her before she thought to catch his wrist with her free hand.

“I just called to tell you I won’t sign your contract,” Marta punched out steadily as she could. Her teeth grit together as she searched Ransom’s wicked expression, his second finger brushing along her slit teasingly.

“Why not?” Lamberty asked, his tone flattened with disappointment, which Marta couldn’t focus on once Ransom pressed against her grip and forced his second finger inside her wetting cunt.

“It’s not fair.” She hoped to _God_ the whine in her voice didn’t sound as embarrassing as it felt. Ransom had to bite back a laugh. He withdrew his hand from her, but only so he could rip the blanket back and sink onto his knees on the floor. Marta’s eyes widened again as he lifted one leg over his shoulder and tugged her rear to the edge of the couch. She clapped her free hand over her lips to keep silent before Ransom mercilessly pressed his tongue to her.

“Now I know you haven’t been in this business very long, Miss Cabrera,” Lamberty placated condescendingly. Her lashes fluttered as Ransom licked up the length of her slit, teasing her again and again before his tongue finally darted into the pool hiding within her walls. “There’s a difference between written and televised storytelling, okay? It’s important for us to be able to-“

“No!” Marta barked, her body tensing once Ransom’s tongue mercilessly circled her clit. Everyone stopped that second, giving Marta’s spinning mind a chance to catch up. She breathed heavily as she looked down at Ransom, his dilated eyes glinting mirthfully. His lips were shiny and reddened by her juices, and he brushed them teasingly from side to side, just grazing her twitching folds. Her heart skipped a beat as she struggled with herself, her throat dry and body burning with desire. She could see him daring her with his smoldering gaze, and she realized as his lips started to pull away from her that she didn’t give a flying _fuck_ about the asshole on the phone.

Her hips bucked forward in search of stimulation. Ransom’s eyes lit up delightfully, and he wasted not another second before he flattened his tongue back to her clit and slipped two fingers inside her dripping entrance. “Listen,” she panted into the phone, throwing her head back as her hips bucked against Ransom’s face in pursuit of her own climax. “Harlan never wanted his stories to be made for TV. The fact that I’m talking to you is blasph _eee_ mous.” Her cheeks flushed at the damn near squeal Ransom elicited from her, but she forced a breath into her lungs and snapped, “I won’t sign if any dishonor will be done to his brilliance.”

“I assure you, Marta, we have no intention of doing any such thing-“ Ransom finally rolled his eyes. Slurping at his own lips as he drew up from Marta’s cunt, he reached up and snatched the phone away from her, though he left his other hand’s fingers burrowed inside her trembling walls.

“Listen asshole. The answer’s no… to _this_ contract. You send another one with a better offer that lets the publishing company keep most of the rights and have oversight to any and all projects, and we can talk,” Ransom demanded, his fingers almost lazily pumping into Marta while he talked. She bit into one of the couch pillows to quiet her desperate mewl, and Ransom found himself amused that the idiot on the other end didn’t seem to notice a damn thing.

All he wanted to know was, “Who the hell is this?”

“If you don’t care to send Miss Cabrera an updated contract in the next few weeks, I’ll take it you’re not interested anymore, and we’ll take our business to Hulu. Or maybe Amazon. Maybe they’ll be interested in making a better deal.” He hung up, and then tossed the phone over his shoulder to skip somewhere along the carpet. With that nuisance finished (and no, he didn’t care that he’d been the one to cause the phone call in the first place), he bowed over Marta to watch her flushed cheeks grow hotter as he thrust his fingers into her faster.

“You can scream now, if you want,” he teased her.

“You’re the worst,” she squeaked.

“And yet you’re squeezing me. You weren’t getting off on that taboo encounter, were you, Marta?” The slick oozing from her with each pump of his fingers was evidence enough, but Marta whimpered helplessly as she finally gave in to the fire. She felt ready to combust, and the relief that swept through her having gotten through that stupid call only made her nerves sing a sweeter song. She hooked one arm around her eyes to try and hide her wrecked expression as Ransom’s pulsing fingers built a deluge of white-hot bliss in her core.

“Answer me,” he growled, his fingers twisting and scissoring through her clenching walls. “You get off on having someone listen to us?”

“I-“ her breath hitched, cheeks burning as she peered at him from under her arm. “It’s just because of you, Ransom,” she breathed, sending a bolt of rabid desire throbbing straight into his dick. He almost gasped, his lips parting stupidly when she so easily and throatily seduced, “You make me crazy enough not to care someone might be listening.” 

Groaning lowly, Ransom slipped his hand from between her legs and grabbed her arm. He dragged her up and off the couch, before he pressed at the back of her knee to sink her to the floor beside him. With one swift push against her shoulder, he had her bowed over the coffee table. He pushed up and crowded behind her lifted rear, one hand smoothing over a perfectly round globe while his other pushed his sweats down. He grabbed his engorged cock and shoved into her slicked opening in one fell swoop. 

Another groan rumbled from his chest as her walls clenched and seeped around him. His hands clamped tightly around her petite hips to ground him as he steadily rocked his hips against hers, drilling his raging erection through her tight channel in a beautiful rhythm. Every time his full length slammed into her, Marta felt her whole core pulsate with euphoria. 

She wasn’t the only one growing maddened from the pleasure. Ransom’s hips picked up the pace instinctively, and his hands trailed up from their bruising grip on her hips to slip beneath his sweater and squeeze around her perky breasts. He pinched his fingers around her nipple, smearing her own juices around the hardened peak. A desperate squeal escaped her as she pressed her palms into the coffee table, giving her more leverage to pitch her hips back. They both gasped when he thrust into her deeper as a result. 

The fire burning through them had sweat slicking the contours of Ransom’s muscles as he flexed them harder and faster with each pass. He removed one hand from the cable knit to grip into Marta’s loose ebony locks. A shriek escaped her when he jerked back, forcing her to arch against the pounding of his hips until they both erupted with ecstasy. He released her hair and burrowed inside her, her orgasm drawing him in even deeper as he came hard enough to see stars. 

Marta’s cries strangled off as the waves of euphoria subsided. Her torso remained flattened against the coffee table as she caught her breath, Ransom bowed over her as he tried to reclaim his strength. She could feel his breath panting against her cheek, before he tugged the cable knit aside and sunk his teeth into her shoulder. An agonized groan left her, and lingered when Ransom slipped away from her. He sunk onto his haunches to keep catching his breath, his dazed eyes lazily admiring the sight of Marta’s slender legs, the mess they’d both made of her cunt, and how his thick sweater hid the rest of her delectable body. 

After they’d cleaned up and snuggled back up under the blankets, and intelligence returned to Marta’s brain, she glanced up at Ransom without lifting from her position lying against his side. “Ransom,” she called, drawing his gaze down to her. “How would you feel if I gave you the money for the TV shows?” She could practically see when his eyeballs turned into dollar signs, like some cartoon villain. Stupidly, it made her smile, but his suspicion rose a moment later.

“Come again?”

“I mean, what _I’d_ get in any such arrangement. The salaries for the cast and crew would obviously remain the same, but-“

“Marta,” he chided, lips thinning as he set her runaway thoughts back on track. She could see his confusion clearly painted across his face, and it made him wary. _What’s the catch?_

“You’re doing more for this part of the business than I am. This is what happens when people have a job. You do good work, you get paid. And I already have more money that I know what to do with, so… if you actually pull this off, and make it a good deal for everyone involved… you should get the money you deserve,” she explained, shrugging one shoulder. 

Ransom was stupefied. His first thought had him annoyingly agreeing with that prick of a PI. Marta was too nice for her own good. She wasn’t doing this for any scheme. For whatever fucked up reason, she genuinely wanted to give him the money, despite knowing his greedy heart meant to take it, despite being unsure whether she trusted him or not. She just wanted to do something nice for him, because that’s who she was… and because maybe he deserved it for what he was doing for her.

That quieted him for several more moment, before a wicked, practiced smirk curved his lips. He toyed with her fingers for a moment before he teased, “Well… if I knew I could get a job eating you out and hanging up on corporate assholes, I might’ve gotten a job a long time ago.” She laughed at him and shook her head, but he couldn’t feel her humor because his next thought felt far scarier. 

For the first time, he found himself wondering if Marta was suddenly winning their game.


	20. The Two-Faced Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How many ways can a scene be interpreted? The motives, the actions, they all speak to something, but with the Thrombeys, it's almost impossible to know what. Marta only starts to realize this, and realizes rather quickly how impossible it is with Ransom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, not to be dramatic, but these two blow my fucking mind as I'm writing them. Things come out as they blather through me that I'm like OMG WHAT. Their dynamic just... it kills me, and I really hope I bring even a SLIVER of what I feel for and see in them to you readers.
> 
> Also thank you all for reading and/or reviewing <3

Leave it to Marta to see one of those horrible charity commercials that play _Amazing Grace_ in the background and get the brilliant idea that, “I think I want to have a charity event.”

“Oh brother,” Ransom groaned, rolling his eyes. “Of course you do.” She ignored his melodrama, and instead looked at him expectantly.

“Have you ever been to one?”

“A few... that had open bars. Make sure you have one of those.”

“Why?” He chuffed at her, brows lifted incredulously. Rubbing the side of his face with the heel of his palm, he sighed.

“Look. You’re gonna donate your own money, we both know that,” Ransom lamented. Marta finally pressed her lips together, unimpressed with his exasperation. However, she patiently listened while he explained, “But if you want _other people_ to spend theirs, you have to give them a reason to do it. Liquor to loosen them up and make their checkbooks more inviting. Gambling games so they have fun wasting their money. Raffles with prizes they can win through donating. People only donate when they have something personal to gain.”

“Ever think maybe that’s just you?”

“Oh no,” Ransom chuckled, “it’s not. Don’t get me wrong you’ll have a few oddballs who’ll donate outright, for the tax break or to make up for all their bad shit I dunno, but... here. Why don’t we go to one first so you can see what I mean.” Marta perked up while he wandered toward the living room to fetch his laptop.

“You think one’ll be happening soon?”

“With New Years Eve coming up in a few days?” He chuckled again. “Yeah. No better excuse for throwing a grossly expensive party than in the name of philanthropy.” Marta’s brows furrowed at the condescending bite in his voice, but she didn’t comment. After a few moments of searching his laptop, Ransom glanced up at her. “What size dress are you?”

“Uhhh six?” Despite the uncertainty in her accentuated words, he nodded like he’d expected that answer. Her brows furrowed curiously, and she shook her head before asking, “Why?”

“Because you need a dress,” he explained, deadpan, eyes already trained back on his computer.

“I have-“ he chuckled before she could get another word out.

“No, you don’t.” His dismissive answer had a hot breath puffing from her nostrils, lips thinning in a tight, disapproving line. He didn’t care to notice. “I’ll take care of it,” he promised quietly. She didn’t know what that meant, but she suddenly didn’t want to ask. Ransom carried out his secret plot while Marta got sucked into the plot of _The Needle Game_. Runaway trains with mysterious deaths tended to get the heartbeat pumping, and Harlan had a way with words. 

When she looked up from her book, she noticed the artwork on the wall matched one of the priceless paintings someone on the train had been carrying. The train itself, she realized, was in the basement, a fancy, custom-made set circling the odd sitting room down there. _Everything in this house is a memento to something else, something of his,_ Marta finally realized with a sense of awe. 

She huffed to herself, smile spreading before she shook her head and went back to reading. In a strange, beautiful way, it made her feel more connected to Harlan than ever. She mentally kicked herself a little for not doing this sooner, but she’d known him for who he was, not what he’d done. 

In a weird, twisted way, Ransom was her counterpart in that. They knew Harlan on a deeper level few, if any others, could claim.

Her phone rang a little while later. She perked up to look at it, and announced, “It’s Meg.” Ransom went back to looking at his computer as she picked the device up from the coffee table and answered. “Hey, Meg.”

“Hey yourself, Stranger. How you been?” Meg teased, both brutish and friendly as always.

“Fine,” Marta responded quietly, hugging her phone a little closer to her face. Despite ‘making up’ with her friend, she still felt a little more reluctant to talk freely. Before an awkward pause could linger though, she asked, “What’s up?”

“Right… did Ransom tell you?”

“I heard,” Marta confirmed carefully, briefly amazed by how easily she could avoid her stomach these days. Blinking, she confirmed, “About the civil court case, right?”

“Yeahhhh,” Meg’s voice droned awkwardly, and possibly regrettably. A low, growling sigh left her. “Look, don’t freak out, okay? I tried to convince her this was a bad idea, but mom can be a bull when she insists on something.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Marta’s confusion had Ransom perking up and looking at her, just before the doorbell moaned through the home.

“We’re outside,” Meg revealed lamely. Marta’s eyes widened, her expression paling a little as she looked up to Ransom’s stoic face. They both lifted from the couch at the same time and raced for the door. Marta gripped the door handle first, but Ransom helped her push the heavy wood door open to reveal Joni and Meg Thrombey on the other side, a sea of white, powdery snow blanketing everything beyond them. Tire tracks now treaded through the snow in the driveway, the car that had dropped the Thrombey women off flashing its crimson headlights before it passed by the gatehouse and left the premises. 

“Well don’t you two just look fabulous together, like the true spirit of Flam,” Joni schmoozed, a brilliant, obnoxiously fake grin stretching her face. She moved forward to hug Marta, ignoring Ransom’s deadpan glare. He kept himself braced in the doorway.

“What do you want?” he asked plainly.

“Well, to see my favorite nephew and how the new, happy couple is doing, of course!” Joni laughed, hysterical and too friendly. “You know you two are the hottest topic on the gossip channels I follow,” she revealed, her finger lazily pointing their way before she grabbed her daughter and pulled Meg front and center. “I know things have been messed up since Thanksgiving, but family’s important, okay? We just finished visiting my side, and now we’re here to visit you while Meg’s on break.” 

Marta looked toward Meg, her head tipped imploringly. She couldn’t fully meet her gaze, and Marta suddenly realized Joni had no idea Meg had told them anything. Meg glanced back up to Joni as she more heavily announced, “Did I mention we have nowhere to stay?”

“You can rent a fucking hotel room,” Ransom barked, before Marta set a gentle hand to his chest. He glanced down at her, already knowing what she was going to do with their pouty, pleading faces. He rolled his eyes and marched off, cussing abrasively, “Jesus fucking Christ, Marta.” She sighed out a long breath as he trudged up the stairs, and looked toward their unexpected guests while the stairs angrily creaked at them.

“You can only stay until the snow melts a little more, and you find another accommodation,” Marta warned, and nearly tipped over as Joni shoved past her with promises and assurances.

“Sorry,” Meg muttered as she breezed by, fingers clenched tightly around the strap of her duffel bag. Marta shut the door behind them, and glanced toward the stairs. She couldn’t see Ransom, but she had an idea of what he was up to. He grabbed some of her clothes and necessities from her room and put them in his own, before he locked the door to hers. The last thing he needed was for one of the blabbermouths to see the bars on the windows in that room, and start spewing unnecessary shit to strangers. 

When he twisted toward the stairs, Joni reached the top of them, hers and Meg’s bags in her hand to deposit in their usual room (thankfully down a completely different hallway). Her eyes glinted when she saw him, and she got that obnoxious Grinch-like grin on her face that made him want to blot her face out. “Actually, there is another reason I wanted to come here,” she revealed secretively. She took a few steps toward him, swaying with her usual seductive bravado that had no place in a ‘family setting’. Ransom’s eyes narrowed, but he waited until she stopped in front of him and met his expectant gaze with purpose.

“I just thought you should know, I swung by the police station on the way here and saw Detective Blanc speaking with those police guys from before,” she gossiped, her finger continuously swaying to help him draw the dots. He didn’t bother correcting her that Blanc wasn’t a real detective. He just clenched his jaw and waited for her to get on with it. “He’s trying to get some kind of case built up against you, about being here with Marta. Of course, _they_ said there’s nothing to go on right now, and they’re still trying to reinstate their last case on you-“

“So what’s your point?” he snapped, tired of her Tinkerbelle voice already. 

“I just thought you should know the current state of affairs,” she drawled, sugary sweet. Ransom snorted. 

“So what, you help me, I help you?” he deduced. Her smile curved more sharply.

“I told you, Ransom. You’re the smartest in this family,” she crooned, before she snorted obnoxiously and rolled her eyes. “I mean, _obviously_. You tried to kill that girl, and still somehow managed to get a right hand seat at her table.” She leaned nearer and waggled her brows, as if they were the best of friends conspiring over something exciting. “How’d you do it?” He glared at her for another moment, before he stepped past her and stalked off, unwilling to answer. 

Marta had her own questions to dodge once Meg pushed her back into the kitchen, her eyes wide and breath heavy. She looked Marta over and huffed when she spotted the hickeys peppering her friend’s olive skin. Pinching her fingers around the supple U-shaped collar of Marta’s thin, long-sleeved shirt, she pulled it aside to inspect the fading bruises and drawled, “Wow. You really are fucking the devil.”

Flushing, Marta jerked her should back and smothered the mottled area with her hand. She rubbed nervously, lips pouting as she looked Meg over uncertainly, suddenly grateful the finger-shaped bruises circling her hips couldn’t be seen beneath her clothes. “It’s complicated,” she muttered lamely.

“I’ll bet,” Meg scoffed, but she perked up and widened her eyes imploringly. “You have to tell me how this happened.” Meg was eager, and more genuinely friendly than her mother, but Marta still hesitated. It was more because of her inability to lie about the start of all this, but also a little because this young woman had already betrayed one of her most dire secrets. Meg noticed her discomfort and reservation and tipped back a little, realizing, “Unless… of course, you don’t want to.” The comment slackened Marta’s own shoulders.

“Meg-”

“No, no I get it. I deserve that,” Meg admitted, though she ducked her head, wounded. Marta frowned, guilt bubbling through her sharp and swift. She took a half step forward and opened her mouth when Ransom walked in.

“Deserve what?” he asked coolly. He glanced between the two women, his posture rigid and haughty in a way Marta hadn’t seen in awhile. Meg tensed as well, her gaze growing a little harder as she stared at her cousin, and ultimately retreated from the room. She didn’t feel like getting into it with him at the present time, which left him looking to Marta for answers.

She noticed his shoulders relax a little without added company.

Blinking, she frowned thoughtfully as he stopped before her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him and catch a whiff of his smoky scent. Subconsciously, she wanted nothing more than to tip forward and sink against him, but she kept her arms locked around her ribs. He set his hand on her bicep, fingers hooking into the space between her arm and ribcage, and pried her feeble defense apart with a simple, gentle tug. Her heart skipped a beat, breath puffing away from her with all her bluster, as he drew her against his firm body and set his hand between her shoulders.

“Meg wanted to know how we got together.”

“Yeah. Joni, too.” He felt her shoulders tense, and his eyes narrowed perceptively. Drawing back, he looked down at Marta’s big puppy eyes and her sweet face, and his own expression flattened. “You don’t feel guilty for protecting yourself from a backstabber, do you?” he asked, damn near rhetorically. Her cheeks heated, and that delectable bottom lip of hers protruded out further. Ransom tipped his head and lamented, “Oh, Marta.” She finally got defensive, but in the strangest way.

“What do you care if I feel guilty or not?” she demanded, pushing at his chest despite how she willingly remained in his loose hold.

“Well, I don’t particularly. I’m just amazed at how much of a bleeding heart you are.” He shook his head, and then chuckled. “I really didn’t believe it before all this,” he admitted, tapping her hip where he knew his fingerprint lingered on her skin. “I didn’t think anyone _could_ be, and you… well, you were quiet and put up with my family’s shit like a saint, but you still sassed my grandfather, so how good could you be?”

“He needed to be sassed.”

“Oh, I know,” Ransom agreed, chuckling. Marta almost laughed, too, but her heart twisted painfully. Expression muting, she leaned away from Ransom and searched his handsome features. _Wow. You really are fucking the devil._

“You need to be sassed, too,” she mentioned quietly, though he hands fell away from him. He released her to escape, his stormy eyes searching her momentarily before he nodded curtly.

“I do. And _you_ seem to have no problem giving it, despite everything that should make you feel otherwise, so you shouldn’t feel bad telling my cousin to fuck off.” He looked her over again, and felt a particular set of words pop back into his mind. _Do you even know what remorse is, Ransom?_ Marta felt it for them both still, as the mention of his deceased grandfather so clearly left her stung by it now. Glancing away from her, he looked through the kitchen thoughtfully. 

Instead of reflecting on what _he_ should’ve been remorseful for, he nodded to the space and announced, “While they’re here, we’re getting takeout.” The comment drew Marta from her thoughts and into hyper-focus on Ransom. He left her to linger with it, to wonder, and it took her several minutes to figure out why he said it in the first place. 

He didn’t want his family to know him, not even as simple and sweet a detail as this… maybe even _because_ of how simple and sweet it was. Did he _want_ to be the black sheep of the family? Or was there something deeper here her innocent mind didn’t want to grasp? Her brows furrowed as she watched him retreat, her head once again left spinning in his wake. She hated the way her heart throbbed painfully now, heavy and hopeful for the stupidest goddamn thing in the world. That maybe she was special, had some way of changing people for the better, softening them, brightening their spirits. 

That maybe she really could let herself believe Ransom truly cared about her.

_Slippery slope,_ she told herself, throat choked. She already felt like she was falling fast, but now she could practically look down the endless pit of grossly obsessive infatuation. Of _love_ , like some people called it. Marta had never romanticized it, and never really wanted it, truth be told. She loved her family, and she liked her work, and that’s all she really wanted or needed her life to be. She wanted a quiet life with no surprises, stability and security, and maybe to do a little bit of good while the world droned on around her.

Now, everything really _was_ twisted on its head, and she didn’t know up from down. Breathing shallow and quick, she crushed her hands to the side of her head to get a grip. She wandered the kitchen nervously and aimlessly for several moments, before retreating upstairs. Stupidly, she went for the door she usually did. It was practically engrained in her muscles now, and she found herself flustered when the knob didn’t twist very far. 

Lurching back a step, she looked up at it, as if searching for some defection in the door. Her peripheral vision detected movement, and when she noticed Joni appear down the hall, her head cocked peculiarly at Marta, she panicked further. Twisting around, she did the only thing she could think of and darted into Ransom’s room.

Despite how he’d spent the last several nights in her room, everything still smelled like him. _Oh God._ Her eyes flickered around her, missing the dirty clothes of her own he’d scattered on the ground to instead take in his own, the book he’d left on the nightstand, his watch, a forgotten glass of water. They stood out amongst the otherwise antiquated room, flared in her mind like warning signs she’d treaded into dangerous, _claimed_ territory. She’d never gone in his room, looked through his things, and she didn’t know how he’d feel about it.

She swiveled around, and almost smacked her forehead into his chest. Jerking back, she froze and scanned up his broad, towering figure. He engulfed the doorway as he stepped into the room, the door clicking shut behind him. She felt more caged being closed off in his room with him, than in her own _actual_ cell of a room across the hall. If asked why, she’d never be able to explain, but she felt so uncertain of the present situation that she wanted to disintegrate into the floor.

Ransom’s hand clamped atop her shoulder and focused all her senses into a single point. The heat and weight of his palm tingled along her skin, his smell invaded her nose by tenfold with each heaving breath, and she swooned so bad he eased her into a seat on the bed with one fluid push. When she met his vivid blue gaze, she realized just how powerful his touch had become to her, both a grounding rod and a mechanism to send her soaring into the heavens. Her lips parted stupidly as she stared at him, dumbfounded of what to do as he bowed over her and murmured in her ear a simple, growling command; “Moan.”

“What?” She blanched, uncomprehending. Ransom rolled his eyes, and instead wrapped his free arm around her. He scooped it beneath her rear, dragging her into his own hips as his face burrowed against her neck. His lips sought out the base of her throat and latched on, before he sucked her flesh into his teeth mercilessly. With how sensitive Marta was on a whole, she couldn’t help but yip sharply, her whole body seizing against him. He bucked against her to keep her sexy voice squealing as he pressed them back against the mattress. It squeaked when their combined weight flopped against it, and he let out a lewd groan of his own once his mouth popped off Marta’s skin.

A ragged breath sucked into Marta’s lungs, her cheeks flushed and body thrumming as intensely as her irritation was about to. Before she could open her mouth to cuss at him, however, the stairs suddenly creaked with a flurry of movement. _Oh_. Letting out a heavy breath himself, Ransom twisted his face toward hers and loomed closer. Marta went a little breathless feeling his weight compress on her, his blue eyes so stark she couldn’t think of another color that existed outside of his irises.

“Listen to me,” he murmured urgently, snapping her dizzy attention into focus, “Joni’s here for more than a visit. She wants something.”

“The money,” Marta croaked with perhaps her very last brain cell.

“Hmm,” Ransom hummed in agreement, head tipping slightly cockeyed. “Or something for their case.” That bit weighed heavily on them both, and Marta suddenly wondered how much Meg traded secrets between people. As if reading her mind, Ransom stressed, “Don’t talk to either of them about anything, okay? Not the Netflix deal, or Christmas. Not _anything_ , okay?”

“O-okay.”

“We’re in this together, right?” His soft affirmation had her meeting his gaze more intently. She wanted it to be true, as much as she had that night in the bar. She wanted someone to be in her corner, someone she could trust in this crazy world, who knew how goddamn crazy it really was. That tiny grain of fear still held her though, until he pressed nearer, lips hovering above hers, scent so goddamn intoxicating her eyes nearly rolled back into her head. “Right?” he purred, their bottom lips just barely grazing each other.

Yes, she was fucking the devil. So beautiful, and perfect, and unwittingly deceptive.

“ _Yes_ ,” she breathed aloud, pressing her chin up to chase him, despite how his weight remained cemented over her. He grinned, eyes slanting lustfully before he tipped forward to seal their deal in a kiss. The sinfully soft pressure had both of them nudging their hips together in a miniscule, but lavish grind, eager for more stimulation. Ransom broke first, his tongue slipping out to pry into Marta’s mouth and seek out her own. As their wet tongues lewdly danced, his hands pressed up her thin shirt and slipped beneath. 

Soft skin teased up her ribs and over her lace bra, where his hand pressed more firmly against her voluptuous chest. Marta groaned into their kiss, her back arching in search of more pressure. He kneaded his hand against her clothed breast for a few moments. His hand slipped higher then, thumb brushing beneath the edge of her bra to sharply tease over her nipple. It budded in a second, causing the vixen to writhe and mewl desperately into their kiss. A second finger joined the pursuit, and pinched around the pointed nub only so he could drag the sensitive flesh harshly up the lacy top of her bra. 

Another unexpected yelp escaped her, and his hips pinned hers down brutally so she couldn’t escape his idle tortures. Jutting his arm up, Ransom pushed her shirt fully up her torso, and slipped away from her lips to press his own to her sternum. He released her breasts, only so he could reposition his hands at her hips, keeping her still as he mouthed open, wet kisses down the length of her slender torso. He nipped her ribs, and painted a line down her navel with his tongue. She panted, straining against his hold as her cunt grew hot and wet for him, damn near aching for him to sink into her.

_This_ was what she craved, the sense of abandon he gave her from the confines of reality. Of responsibility or poise, consequences and rules. When her head grew foggy with lust, and her body full of need, she was free to just experience the moment, to feel this perfect bliss in all its wicked glory. And God damn it all, she fucking loved it. 

His lips finally reached her hips, sharp and beautiful above her jeans’ waistline. The faded dark marks of his fingers still lingered there, and he grazed his mark at the patch of flesh at her inner hip with his lips reverently. He pressed a kiss to the mark, before his tongue pressed against it lewdly. And in one practiced motion, he sucked the meager bruise between his lips to darken it all over. Her loins quivered, back arching against the bed, even as he held her hips in place and suckled her flesh until his own lips tingled with numbness. 

He popped off with an obscenely loud sound, the newly reddened spot big and angry and beautiful. He eyed it lovingly, the heat radiating off Marta almost too much to bear. His eyes slanted toward the button of her jeans, which his fingers couldn’t help toying with. Rabid need watered his mouth, but his damn mind proved clever to a fault. Sighing heavily, he forced himself to still and muttered, “As much as I want to fuck you senseless right now, we shouldn’t leave them alone for too long.”

Marta pressed her hand to her face, palm kneading her temple to try and drag her back down to reality. Right. “I told them they could only stay until the roads are a little safer,” she remembered. Ransom nodded approvingly.

“Good,” he praised, before he crawled up the bed on his elbows and pressed a bruising kiss to Marta’s lips. He drew back with enough force to bounce the bed a little, which had him chuckling in a deep, sultry way that had Marta’s gut still throbbing for release. He drew up from the bed though, leaving her eyes hooded as she eyed his tall figure like he was a sack of man meat. Her thirsty expression actually had Ransom chuckling a little. “You hang here until you’ve cooled down,” he teased, causing her to flush.

Before he turned away, Marta called, “Ransom?” He paused to look at her. “My clothes-”

“I put enough for a few days worth in that drawer,” he answered, pointing the way she needed before she could finish her thought. Strangely, she found her cheeks heating even further. All she could do was offer a curt nod. He gave her a lazy, lopsided smirk before he retreated from the room. Marta felt her heart swell, the strangest thought crossing her mind as she watched the door creak closed for the time being. 

The Thrombeys loved to talk about ‘taking care of her’. They’d said it a lot during Harlan’s passing. Even Harlan himself alluded to it often. No one ever really carried through, though. Marta’s mother had been the only one to really ever provide that, and that had only been when she was younger and defenseless. And Harlan had only offered it in death, though it seemed to have come with far more responsibility than care. The tides had turned on Marta each time, and she was so used to taking care of everyone else, that she didn’t know what it felt like to have someone taking care of her anymore.

How strange, then, that Hugh Ransom Drysdale was the first one to really make her feel like it was possible again.


	21. Glitz, Glam, and Flam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ransom and Marta get ready for their ball, and long-buried secrets come to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This keeps happening lol. I didn't expect this chapter, but the characters wanted depth and that's basically what this whole chapter is about. Hopefully its interesting enough to keep the suspense for the ball up D:
> 
> Also, I'd say Killer by Valerie Broussard fits Marta/Ransom from Marta's perspective rather perfectly, and if this were a TV show, I think it'd play during this episode xD

They ordered pizza that night, and ate in an awkward, frigid silence that lingered until morning. The leftovers from their large pie would cover lunch, but Marta didn’t know what the hell kind of takeout they could possibly get for breakfast. It’s how she found herself in front of the stove for the first time in awhile, a few simple eggs sizzling up on a frying pan. Joni came in and spotted her, and immediately condescended, “Aw, honey. Is this how you’ve been living since getting the fortune? On self-cooking and takeout? You really should get some new staff for the house.”

Marta didn’t know what the hell to say to that, which left her smiling awkwardly as Joni breezed through like some bohemian princess. Brows lifting, she shook her head at how her kind gesture and effort was just looked down upon. At least she could now guess why Ransom didn’t want to bother. It left Marta to finish making everyone’s meager breakfast in silence, and yes, she was entirely self-conscious the whole time Ransom silently ate her attempt at cooking. He didn’t make a face either way, which just left her squirming in her seat.

It didn’t take long for Joni to approach her with what she likely thought was a sweet and apologetic smile. The idle chatter lasted even less before Joni finally admitted, “You know, money’s gotten a little tighter lately…”

Marta sighed, her head tipping slightly. She’d been expecting this on some level since their arrival, and already felt exhausted of it. “Joni, I’m paying for Meg’s college tuition already. Shouldn’t that be enough?” she implored, earning that kicked-puppy face from Joni again.

“Well… yeah,” she admitted feebly, shrugging one shoulder. “That’s been great of you. Really, you taking that off my hands was a huge help, but it doesn’t really change the fact that Harlan left us high and dry in every other way.” Marta’s brows knit, expression growing puzzled.

“Don’t you… own your own business?”

“What, _Flam_?” Joni balked for a second, before she backpedaled, “I mean, yeah, and Flam is great, but… it doesn’t really support our kind of lifestyle yet.” Marta’s eyes narrowed, an almost smug smile gracing her lips as she nodded slowly at Joni’s admission. She looked away, brows raised at the blatantly absurd and entitled ask. Joni had the decency to at least _look_ chagrined, but she still stood there, hoping for her desired outcome.

“You ever think maybe it doesn’t support what you want yet because you depended on Harlan’s money to do that for you?” Marta countered, looking toward Joni in the pointed way only Harlan and Ransom had really seen. Stunned, Joni took half a step back and tilted her head.

“Excuse me?” Joni squeaked, accosted. Marta sighed again, which earned her an irritably curled lip from the Thrombey widow. She realized now Harlan’s gravest mistake in all this.

“Harlan shouldn’t have just cut you off,” she muttered. Before Joni’s triumph could swell, Marta corrected, “He should have helped you understand _why_. Outside of the obvious with you stealing from him, you clearly didn’t have a reason to live up to your potential when you had his money to fall back on. Now, you have every reason to put your energy into Flam and make it bigger.” She waved her hand at Joni, a small part of her wishing that’d be enough to push her to get to it. She wasn’t really surprised by how Joni’s jaw dropped, or how she swiveled away and started angrily ranting to herself.

Marta couldn’t hear it from where she remained, but Ransom heard Joni snapping, “Ungrateful little bitch! Who the hell does she think she is?!” He’d heard everything from where he stood in the hallway around the corner, and his sharp blue eyes followed Joni intently as she breezed past him without noticing his presence.

~*~

On the 30th, a delivery truck drove up the driveway, turning the half-melted snow into slush where the tires compressed it into the pavement. Two black garment bags were delivered to the front door, which Ransom accepted. As he closed the door, one arm stretched upward to hold up both items, the curious women of the house flocked toward him. His leer landed on Joni in particular, and he casually noted, “Road’s seem clear enough. You two getting ready to leave?”

“Wait, what’s all this for?” Meg asked, ignoring him to point toward the draping bags he held.

“We’re going to a charity ball,” Marta answered absently, though her surprise showed in her slack expression. She looked over the delivery, curiosity glinting in her eyes until she caught Ransom’s glare before he handed one of the bags over to her. Was she _not_ supposed to mention this either? 

Seeing how Meg laughed and asked, “Sorry, what?” in the most incredulous tone Marta had ever heard, she suspected not. 

“You’re donating the money?” Joni asked a moment later, her eyes wide and lip curled like that was the craziest thing she’d ever heard. Cheeks tinted a little red, Marta looked down at the black bag, one hand scooping up the midsection to help her hold it. She didn’t know what to say now, but her silence confirmed the truth. Joni’s eyes widened even further, before she asked, “How much money?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Marta murmured, twisting away to carry her surprising gift upstairs. She didn’t get very far before Joni snapped to attention and leapt after her with a gallivant wave of her arm. 

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on,” she scoffed, touching her hand to Marta’s arm. She flinched away from it, though it served Joni’s purpose in facing them toward one another a little more. “Have you ever _been_ to one of these events before?”

“That’s why I’m going,” Ransom cut in, his fingers looped through the hanger of his own bag, which was left draping over his back as he readied to follow Marta up the stairs. Joni practically sneered at him, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah. Like you’ll be a great guide.”

“Better than you.”

“She needs a woman’s touch,” Joni argued sultrily, shooting him an argumentative leer. Turning her palm over, she flicked her hand toward Marta and pleaded, “At least let us stay until tomorrow to help her get ready.” Ransom rolled his eyes, but he realized while he could help her with the dress specifically, the rest would be lost on him.

“Fine,” he sighed, before he held his free finger up and warned, “but don’t even think about trying to weasel your way into coming, or I’ll dump your fucking asses in the snow and throw your shit in the garbage.”

“Nice, Asshole,” Meg chastised him. Ransom gave her the finger as he followed Marta up the stairs.

~*~

Ransom asked Marta not to look at the dress until it was time to get ready. It made her anxious for the reveal, her curiosity about what Ransom had picked for her rising to a damn near torturous level. Only _once_ did she reach for the zipper to sneak a peek, and bowed out when her troublesome stomach churned at the thought of lying about her weak will. 

The time felt almost tangible when Meg finally came up to the room to help her get ready. She’d showered later that day, and her ebony hair was left to dry on its own for now. Meg set a big bag of beauty products down on the desk chair before she nodded her head toward the black bag hanging up against the door of the closet. “Come on. Let’s see what we’re working with,” she encouraged, forcing Marta’s heart to skip.

“Are you sure?” she said with widened eyes. Meg huffed and narrowed her own at her friend peculiarly.

“Yeah. I need to see the color, and how much of your love bites I’m gonna have to cover up,” she said, nodding toward Marta’s neck with a twinkle in her eye. It was the first time she’d been able to see the golf ball-sized hickey at the base of Marta’s throat since she’d smartly been wearing turtlenecks again the last few days. Marta flushed and covered the still prominent bruise with her hand. She moved forward though, a little nervously at first, and approached the garment bag to unzip it open.

“Oh my God,” Marta murmured, hand touching to her lips instead of her neck as she looked over the stunning sapphire gown Ransom had purchased for her. Expensive satin stretched into an hourglass shape billowed down into a loose, lush skirt that had a modest slit up the left side. The only really decorative part of the otherwise simplistic design were the thick shoulder straps, studded with what was likely _real_ sapphires and silver crystals. An elongated oval cut vertically down the center of the dress until where her sternum would be to provide a modest bit of sensuality and cleavage. 

“Wow. That’s… nooooot what I expected,” Meg drawled, brows lifted a little as she admired the dress with Marta. Unsure what to make of that, Marta twisted around.

“Is something wrong with-?“ 

“No. No,” Meg assured, shaking her head, “it’s just… he usually likes his dates showing a whole lot more skin. Thin straps, lotta cleavage, slits going all the way up to the hip. That kinda thing.” Marta balked a little.

“I could never wear something like that,” she admitted, twisting back toward the dress with rosy cheeks. “I don’t even know if I can wear this.”

“Sure you can.” Meg grabbed her arm and encouraged her to sit on the bed. Grabbing a few things out of her bag, she sat across from Marta and laid out all of her makeup around them on the quilt. Marta glanced around. She knew what foundation and eye shadow was, but she’d hardly ever used anything more than lip balm in her life. She did notice something, however.

“You’re not using your mother’s products?” Marta asked, watching Meg’s expression as she nearly guffawed.

“God no. That shit’ll give you a rash,” Meg warned, shocking Marta. She fell quiet and let Meg work for a second, but her nerves bubbled up a moment later.

“I’ve never been to an event like this,” Marta admitted, rubbing her arm nervously. Meg snorted at her.

“Yeah. I can tell,” Meg huffed, before she set a brush to Marta’s skin. Marta’s cheek scrunched at the ticklish sensation, but she fell still while Meg worked to doll her up. “They’re boring, for the most part. Just a lot of ass-kissing and weirdly charged banter.”

“You’ve been?”

“To a few before, mostly with my mom.” She caught the surprise in Marta’s stare and laughed. “She uses them to network from time to time, to help promote Flam or catch up on gossip or whatever. She doesn’t donate past what’s required to get invited to the party, and from what I know, she gets most of it back in tax breaks anyway.” A wretched knot formed in Marta’s stomach having some of Ransom’s accusations come true. Joni was a Thrombey, however, so she hoped the rest of the party to come might prove him wrong. 

“Tilt your chin up,” Meg requested, while she pushed Marta’s head up with her fingertips. She took a cream concealer and dabbed it over the hickeys on Marta’s neck before she reluctantly admitted, “You know… you and Ransom… I’ve never seen him like this.” 

“What do you mean?” Marta wondered, trying not to squirm until the cool, wet substance Meg rubbed into her skin.

“Well… I dunno. Quiet, in the background. He likes making an entrance, being the center of attention and stirring up drama. But he watches you a lot, moves with you like you’re some…” she trailed off and shook her head, lost for the right words. “The way you two react to each other is just intense, is all. Can’t say I expected that.”

“Neither did I,” Marta couldn’t help agreeing, her chest heavy with a flurry of emotions. When Meg finished concealing her neck, she applied some foundation to help it match her skin tone better. They fell quiet while Meg applied a little blush to her cheeks (like she needed help with that), and Marta found her thoughts wandering off with her heart. It thudded heavily in her chest, before curiosity took over and she asked, “What was Ransom like? Growing up.” Meg stilled for a moment as she picked up her eye shadow palette, her eyes flickering over Marta as if she’d just asked her to do something nefarious. She recovered though, and dabbed her smaller brush through one of the colors. 

“I dunno. There’s like a ten year difference between us,” Meg reminded, before instructing, “close your eyes.” Marta obliged, trying not to flinch as the brush applied pressure against her eyeball. It became far easier to remain still when Meg started talking again, her words enrapturing Marta more than she’d ever share. “And he didn’t really pay attention to me before I started high school and started speaking up more with the family… but from as early as I can remember, he was always getting yelled at for something, always getting into trouble. The first one I think I remember was when he crashed a brand new sports car in the first week he bought it, completely totaled it.”

She switched eyes before she started talking again, “He got arrested a couple times for drugs, and I think once for fucking a super model in a Victoria’s Secret fitting room or something? I don’t know. There was a lot of shit he caused, and every time someone would go off on him, he’d smile, you know? Like it’s what he wanted the whole damn time. He was softer with granddad though, sometimes. When they’d play Go, or start discussing something… mmm it was the only time I’d see him look kinda happy – keep your eyes closed!”

“Sorry,” Marta huffed, her cheeks heating beneath her makeup in abashment. She caught a glimpse of Meg’s smile before she closed her eyes again, and sat as patiently as she could while Meg started to carefully apply black eyeliner to the subtle, but sexy shadow she’d given Marta’s eyes, a hint of blue toward the dark contour to match her dress.

“We did smoke a joint together once, though,” Meg admitted, her tone softening a little at the rare memory. “When he found out I started smoking sophomore year, he brought one out and we smoked it in the backyard.”

“That’s… nice,” Marta said, albeit hesitantly.

“Yeah, it was. I think it’s… maybe the only time we’ve had a real conversation,” she admitted, scoffing a little. They fell quiet for a moment while Meg focused on finishing her makeup. Marta was finally allowed to open her eyes. Meg looked into them as she pulled up her mascara. After she uncapped it, she paused and looked over her friend. “You don’t feel bad for him, do you, Marta?” Meg asked seriously. Marta didn’t know how to answer, which prompted her friend to press, “Because he doesn’t deserve it.”

Marta shook her head, and all she could think to say was, “Sometimes it’s not about deserve. It’s about what people need to be better.”

~*~

Despite Joni’s claim they’d both help Marta get ready, she left it to Meg. She glanced over her shoulder as she moved through the house, checking to make sure Ransom was still preoccupied with getting ready himself. She crept through the first floor, rifling through their mail and checking Harlan’s study. When she didn’t find anything of use, she wandered elsewhere, looked through the library and rapped her knuckles against the new desk she didn’t even notice, scanned books with an increasingly bored expression.

Blowing out a heavy, exasperated breath, she continued her search for… something. No one had been explicitly _clear_ on what they intended her to find, only that she’d ‘know it when she saw it’. She puffed again, rolling her eyes as her fingers skimmed the hallway wall, the rich green paint clashing against her pink nails. It skirted over the molding of the cellar doorway a moment later, and she paused. Taking a half step back. She glanced toward it while her fingernails slowly rapped against the molding again.

Humming to herself, she took one last look around, before she quietly opened the door and crept downstairs. Each stair creaked heavily as she headed down them, until she reached the chilly basement. Her eyes scanned the random sitting room Harlan had staged downstairs, knick knacks and a train set circling it. She glanced toward the storage racks lining one wall and took a step closer before her wandering eyes caught sight of one of the rectangular windows nudged toward the basement ceiling.

Dirt-covered and disgusting, they deserved the most grotesque of lip-curls. One of the windows had cleaned streaks running down it, however… a little like someone’s fingers had clawed at it. Eyes narrowing, Joni stepped closer to inspect the oddity, before she damn near lurched out of her skin when Ransom’s deep voice rumbled, “What are you doing down here, Joni?”

She swiveled around, her hand smothering over her pounding heart. Breath puffing from her swiftly, she tried to save face and stammered, “I was just-“

“So that’s the plan, huh?” Ransom cut her off, chuckling. He had on pristine black slacks and a crisp white button up, the buttons halfway done. His dress shoes scuffled against the floor as he lazily waltzed toward her, his sharp eyes narrowed as he deduced, “Weasel your way back into an allowance for best case scenario, dig up some dirt for the civil court case if not.”

“C-court case? What on earth are you-“ Joni’s flat-faced deflection ended there. She took in Ransom’s steely expression and immediately realized, “Meg. That little-“ her lips pinched together, fingers balling in a fist before her face, like she was picturing strangling her daughter for a moment. Ransom almost snorted as he shuffled to a standstill a foot away from his aunt, hands tucked in his pockets in a deceptively lax manner. Joni’s gaze returned to him and his steely eyes. “How’d you know I was down here?”

“Oh, I may have had a sense you were up to something from the second you got here. Figured you’d slither off the second you thought I wasn’t watching,” he teased, self-satisfied as ever.

“So what now?” she asked flatly, before her expression took on a startled, doe-eyed look. Touching her hand to her chest, she asked in a more whiney voice, “You’re not going to hurt me, are you, Ransom?” He laughed at her.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“Come on, Joni,” he sneered, “were you just yanking my leg when you said I’m the smartest? You really think I don’t know why my uncle _really_ died all those years ago?” Oh, he knew. All it had taken was paying attention to her at the funeral to know she’d somehow staged his abusive uncle’s death. Everyone else saw big crocodile tears and a mother trying to keep it together for her stricken, confused little girl. He’d seen the slant eyes and the gaudy makeup hiding a black eye though, and she’d been happy as a clam when a few months later Neil Thrombey’s insurance policy came through. 

Startled for a different reason, she guffawed at him and jerked her head back. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but I don’t have to stand here and listen to it,” she snapped, stepping around him to march off in a huff. When she got to his side, he latched a hand around her arm and jerked her closer, ignoring her brief protest to get in her face.

“Does Meg know her mommy’s a murderer?” he growled, eyes boring into hers. They widened in response, helping him to deduce, “No. She wouldn’t catch on with your big dumb pout and watery victim eyes.” Joni’s teeth grit together as she tugged her arm against his hold and brought her other to finally deliver on a threat and slap the smug smile off his face. Jerking his head aside, he brought his other hand up to catch her wrist before she could sting his cheek. Limbs tangled, he held their arms crisscrossed between them and kept her steady glare with one of his own. 

“To answer your question, even if I _didn’t_ know you were recording this interaction, I wouldn’t hurt you,” he drawled on, releasing her lower arm to reach for her pocket and draw up her phone. He held it up between them, the red _record_ button a blaring sign of what he’d caught her doing the second she noticed his presence. He smirked and articulated, “I’m just going to kick you out of the house, per our agreement yesterday that you could stay until Marta got ready for tonight.” 

His thumb hit the red button to stop the recording, and he met Joni’s furious expression as he explained, “Just in case you had that forwarded anywhere, I wanted to finish my thought.” He deleted the recording a moment later, and took a moment to tap into her messages a moment later. _Linda Drysdale_ ’s name was at the top of her contact list, and he didn’t have to read the messages to understand, “Mom sent you, huh? You know she only did it because you’re the expendable one, right?” Joni finally snatched her phone back and jut her chin up to get in his face again.

“I heard she cut you out of her will. I guess we’re both at the bottom of her totem pole,” she snapped, causing Ransom’s expression to flatten. He pushed her forward with the grip he still had on one of her wrists.

“Go pack your shit and be at the door in twenty minutes,” he ordered. They made it up the stairs, and up another flight before heading down the hall together. Joni stomped into her shared room with Meg, while Ransom kept going into the other upstairs bathroom, where he’d been getting ready for the ball. He finished buttoning his shirt and strapped on a bowtie, before he grabbed his expensive suit jacket. Once it was settled around his shoulders, he grabbed a larger overcoat and hung it over his arm before exiting the bathroom.

He saw Joni first, exiting the room with a collection of bags hanging from her hands. Marta and Meg came out swiftly after, across the hall from them. Ransom stilled upon seeing Marta, her dark hair dried and volumized to frame her stunning face, every natural advantage she had accentuated by Meg’s skilled painting. The rich blue of her dress brought out some of the hidden green hues of her light brown eyes. His breath caught, eyes raking over the snug fit of the dress and the mystery it left around slender legs he knew well. 

“Well, don’t you look like a million bucks,” Ransom teased, regaining his composure as he stepped forward. Marta balked.

“Please don’t tell me that’s how much this dress cost,” she muttered, earning a chuckle from him.

“Not yet,” he schmoozed, before he pulled up a glittering sapphire and diamond necklace. Marta gasped and almost shook her head, but she did little more than turn around to let Ransom circle her neck with the jewelry. Once the clasp snapped in place, he tipped his weight toward her side to catch her eye and offered up a matching set of earrings. “You can manage these, right?” 

She couldn’t speak, so nodded stupidly as she accepted the gift. Heart hammering, she bowed her head and tried to not focus on how out of place she felt. Instead, she tried to convince herself this evening wasn’t about to cost a million dollars (something she never could’ve fathomed before this moment, and… still couldn’t, truth be told), and worked the earrings into the small holes in her earlobes she rarely used. Joni’s gaudy smile didn’t help, or how she crooned, “You two look amazing! I feel like I need to be taking prom photos or something.”

Ransom shot her a glare that shut her up, and they headed downstairs in an unsynchronized line that made the stairs unbearably squeaky. Once they all reached the front door, Ransom grabbed another long, black petticoat off a hanger and handed it off to Marta. His smile grew at the ever-startled look on her face, but he stepped back to draw his own overcoat on, a sleek white scarf hanging around the lapels. Marta finally realized how dashing he looked, hair slicked back, and muscles neatly contained beneath a top-of-the-line tuxedo.

Like a real Prince Charming, he held his arm out to collect her, and politely asked, “Ready?” Marta nodded her head stupidly, while Joni took a more vocal, annoying approach.

“We haven’t called a car yet.”

“I already did that for you,” Ransom dismissed, opening the door to reveal two cars outside, a lavish town car and a Ford Focus UberX. Glancing toward Marta, he smirked and winked charmingly. “Ready to go be the Beauty of the ball?” She flushed and shook her head in response, but she let Ransom lead her outside anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... fun fact. First, and I didn't write this in until last minute due to it just being released, but I found our from an article a cut scene showed Joni's Flam products giving people rashes, and so its about to bomb/go bankrupt. So I added that in as a tidbit.
> 
> The bigger thing though, and what I had as a headcanon from the second I saw the movie, was that Joni somehow killed her husband. Knowing this was a murder mystery, I wondered about everything the characters said, and his weirdly brief mention/how she awkwardly explains he 'passed away' immediately made me wonder if she was a black widow and killed him to get money (which then could've been motive for her to kill Harlan to keep her money). So I decided to incorporate that in my own APPARENTLY NOVEL of a damn fanfic. And seeing how terrible all the Thrombeys are, and how both Richard and Walt were more than happy to go after each other, I figured Neil could've easily been the kind of entitled that felt a woman was property, and thus he could lay his hands on her however he wanted. And that's all I'll say on it, but that's my headcanon and thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.


	22. The Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Classism. That's it. That's the summary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick disclaimer, I've only been to a charity event once so I don't know much about them. Most of this depiction is based off what I've seen in movies, and the little bit I looked up. All the added characters are entirely fake, and just meant to fit the vibe of the original Knives Out message. Thanks <3

Once the two were closed in the back of a blacked-out town car, Ransom realized how long it had been. He glanced across at Marta, wavy hair framing her broad jawline and ruby-painted lips. Eyes slanting down toward her thick coat, he grabbed the edge of it and pulled it open, revealing the fitted torso of her sleek dress. Big, beautiful eyes flickered in his direction, the look on her face so unexpectedly innocent that Ransom thoughtlessly cussed, “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

His fingers flexed up, brushing along the curve of her breast. Her breath hitched as his finger tickled her skin through the silk, little else protecting her from his sinful touch thanks to the discreet padding the dress had built-in. Goose bumps flared to life beneath her coat, her nipples hardening along with it. Her eyes flickered toward the driver’s seat, but their driver didn’t have a good view of them thanks to the breadth of the leather seats. Ransom stole her attention back when he shifted nearer, his thigh wedging up against hers until her reached up with his other hand and cupped her jaw. He drew her forward into a lush kiss, his starved tongue diving past her rich lipstick to dance with her own.

As the backseat heated with their antics, Ransom’s hand drifted down from her face to her leg. He parted the modest slit that ended a few inches above her knee and caressed his fingers over the sensitive flesh there. Marta finally stiffened, her knees clamping together as she gripped her hands around his wrist and murmured his name against his lips. Their dilated eyes met, breaths mingling headily as she protested, “I don’t want you to ruin my dress before we even get there.” Already, she could feel her cunt readying to wet for him.

He chuckled, eyes roving over her face hungrily, but he drew back and gave them both a little space to recompose themselves. He traced her lip before rubbing his own and humming appreciatively at the lack of red smeared against him. “Knew Meg would use the good stuff,” he almost complimented.

“Yes, she said Flam products aren’t good?” Marta prodded, causing Ransom to scoff.

“Everything about Joni is a sham,” he snapped, before he glanced toward Marta and shared, “I found her rifling through the house while we were getting ready.”

“Did she find anything?”

“Don’t think so, but it’d probably be good to get your security guy back at this point… or ideally hire someone new and more competent.”

“Wouldn’t that pose trouble for you?” Marta asked humorously, and immediately regretted it when Ransom’s bright blue eyes snapped onto her intently.

“Why? Do I have something to worry about with you?” he asked instead, nearly causing Marta to hiccup on her own heart. She shook her head ‘no’ swiftly, but the irony of a throwaway joke putting everything back into perspective wasn’t lost on either of them. Their weirdly blissful little bubble had dark roots and secrets for soil, and Marta couldn’t tell how deep or dark those roots might still be growing around them. He’d given her no reason to doubt this for quite awhile now, yet she still had every reason to be wary. She just forgot to worry until he did something to snap the rose-colored glasses off her face.

Her wandering thoughts and his sudden silence didn’t help her nerves settle before they arrived at the charity ball. 

She tilted forward, peering through the window at the most expensive hotel in Boston. The Boston Harbor Hotel looked like a palace, and sat right on the water to give patrons a stunning view. A chill blew through its wind tunnel of a lobby entrance, which caused Marta to shiver as she stepped out of the car. She hugged her coat around herself tighter as she teetered forward on her heels. Ransom had to help catch her weight when her ankle threatened to bow out on the modest black heel she wore.

“I’m not used to heels,” she muttered, flushing in embarrassment as she steadily gained her balance again. Ransom huffed at her, an amused smile lingering on his lips. He kept his arm out for her to hold, and the two slowly made their way inside the lavish hotel. Signs for the Happy New Year Charity Ball made it easy for them to find their way through to the hotel’s event hall. Someone dressed in an expensive suit and black tie stopped them before the doors to check them against the guest list, and then they walked into a luxurious gold and crystal ballroom that had Marta’s jaw dropping.

“Not used to this either, huh?” Ransom teased, watching Marta as she took in the grandeur of the whole affair. The crystal chandeliers overhead, the white-cloth tables, white-gloved and black-vested servers walking around with silver trays to provide people in gowns and suits champagne flutes and Hors d’oeuvrs she’d never seen before in her life. 

“This is a charity event?” she murmured, her accent a little thicker thanks to her level of fluster.

“Hmm. Only the rich have the hubris to think they can cure cancer while eating caviar,” Ransom explained dryly. Glancing around at the fanciful ballroom, he tipped his head and admitted, “The evening’ll likely pull a couple million though, at least. The cheapest plate was five hundred a pop. So that, plus additional donations… guess its worth catering to this lot of douchingtons.” Marta blinked as she stared at him, unsure how to wrap her head around all that. 

He tugged her toward the coat check, and her heart started to pound again. Like a true gentleman, he pulled her coat off her shoulders, and she immediately felt like the ugly chicken crashing the pretty swan party. Her hands clamped to her nervously churning stomach, and she smoothed her palms down the silky, skin-tight dress. God, she’d never worn anything like this in her life, not even at her damn prom. Skin prickling, she glanced around for any unwanted stares until Ransom’s hand fell to the small of her back.

She jolted a little, beady eyes snapping to his face. His own brows lifted a little, before the nervous pucker of her lips had him laughing. He tipped forward and caught her lips in a kiss, feigning ignorance to the photographers lurking around for the event, and the people who knew him well enough to balk at his open display of affection. In that second, all he wanted to do was kiss that adorably silly look off her face.

“Relax,” he purred at her when he drew back, blue eyes hooded and mirthfully bright. “If you can survive many a Thrombey dinner, you can handle this.”

“Oh?” Marta asked, tipping her head in surprise at his confidence. Before she could think it through, she teased him, “Are you more charm or crass in this setting?” He laughed in spite of himself.

“Depends on who we run in to,” he quipped back, bowing his arm in a cradle for her hand. Once she was secured, he tugged her toward one of the waiters floating about with champagne flutes. “You see? I told you open bar helps,” Ransom teased her, his own eyes scoping for the bar itself until he caught Marta glugging her champagne back. Laughing airily, he added, “Sometimes just with the nerves.” 

A heavy breath left Marta once she finished chugging, only for a burp to slip past her lips as she licked excess moisture from them. Startled, she giggled a little while bringing a hand up to wipe her knuckle along her lips to dry them further. Brows lifted, Ransom chuffed at her mannerisms and shook his head. “And I’m the crass one,” he teased, and it took a moment for Marta to understand what he meant. Flushing from embarrassment, she kept her hand lingering before her lips as Ransom lead her toward the bar counter stationed in the corner of the ballroom.

After they ordered their _real_ drinks - Ransom with another expensive Scotch and Marta with some specialty cherry cocktail the charity had as a signature drink – they sauntered away from the bar and looked over the ball from the outskirts. “So what do we do now?” Marta asked innocently, stirring the thin black straw around her drink. Ransom hummed while he sipped on his Scotch.

“Mingle, I guess. There’ll be an auction to encourage the charity funds later that’ll _really_ kill everyone’s buzz, but until then…” he trailed off and shrugged. “Drink, gloat, ass-kiss, flirt with a stranger. Pick your poison.”

“So charming,” Marta chided him, her lips pursing before she sipped on her cocktail. Ransom’s eyes glittered dangerously as he looked toward her, an impish smile creeping across his lips. _And now for the crass._

Tipping near her, he murmured in her ear, “We could go fuck in the bathroom to liven this party up.” She nearly spit her drink out, but managed to save most of it at the last second, her hand smothering over her lips again to hide the bit of liquid she slurped back into her mouth. Bulging eyes flickered toward Ransom as she carefully dried her lip. He laughed as a blush impressively bloomed through her makeup. “Admit it a part of you is tempted,” he goaded her.

“I-“ she closed her mouth before she could say something stupid enough to force the drink back out her lips. She glanced around the elegant party and nearly trembled thinking about doing something so raunchy. Her doe eyes caught on to someone heading toward them, a dashing bachelor with slicked back, sandy blond hair and an angular jawline. A self-satisfied smirk seemed stuck across his slender lips, and his green eyes were narrowed on them intently. “Who’s that?” Marta asked, abandoning their conversation and encouraging Ransom to look at their incoming guest. 

“Ah fuck,” was all Ransom said before the man came within a proper talking distance.

“Ransom,“ he drawled ostentatiously.

“Jerry,” Ransom responded, drawing his drink up in a lazy greeting. 

“Haven’t seen you around the country club lately.“

“Been a little preoccupied.” 

“And who can blame you?” Jerry schmoozed, before his bright, _wanting_ gaze fell on Marta. His smile broadened. “And that means you must be the lovely Marta Cabera.”

“Cabrera,” Marta corrected, only to be ignored as Jerry let his eyes wander the length of her dress. 

“And don’t you look just stunning in that dress,” he complimented at the same time. Ransom’s jaw clenched to keep his face from twitching irritably, which was… stunning. He never cared when his dates drew attention. At the very least, it was an ego boost for him, and worked to his advantage when he wanted to push them away or ditch them for something better. Now, he felt like some vicious beast was ready to roar up from his chest.

Polite and oblivious as always, Marta replied, “Thank you. Ransom bought it for me.” Fingers gripping tighter to his drink, Ransom rolled his eyes and lifted it to take a generous sip as Jerry barked with laughter.

“I didn’t know you were so into women’s fashion, Drysdale,” the man teased. Ransom’s jaw clenched again as he swallowed down his sip, and he mustered a practiced smile as he drummed up a sharp retort. Before he could open his mouth to spew his own venom, however, Marta frowned and straightened her posture. 

“I’ve never been to one of these before. He helped me. What exactly is so funny about that?” she demanded, fists balled at her side and chest swelling with agitation. Stunned, Jerry gaped at her for a moment before he forced a laugh to try and recover.

“You let women fight for you now?” Jerry asked Ransom, instead of dealing with Marta’s comment directly. Pursing his lips, Ransom shrugged.

“Well, you’re not much of a man,” he groused back, before taking another sip of his drink. “What’s the matter, Jerry? Couldn’t find your own date, so you had to come try and hit on mine?”

“I figured the new heiress might like better company,” Jerry explained plainly, his chin tipping up haughtily as he gave Marta (what she assumed he _thought_ was) a charming smile. “You know, someone with a bit of green left in their pockets.” 

Eyes narrowing, Ransom pointed at Jerry lackadaisically. “Say, what _is_ your family’s stock worth lately? I saw it dropped a few points last quarter. Something about you crashing your daddy’s yacht into a pier?”

“It was _my_ yacht, you dipshit.”

“That your father’s company produces.” Ransom smiled wickedly. “It sank, didn’t it? You proved the hull has some weakness in it or other-“

“And what’s your family’s non-existent stock worth these days?” Jerry seethed instead. Tipping back, Ransom shrugged again.

“Dunno. Like I said, been a little preoccupied,” he quipped, his arm winding around Marta’s waist to pull her against his side. She knew a pissing contest when she saw one, but this had to be the strangest one she’d ever overheard. She glanced toward Ransom, butterflies fluttering through her stomach thanks to his possessive hold. He met her gaze and smiled. Over their current company, he asked her, “You wanna dance?”

Smartly, she kept her mouth shut and nodded in front of Jerry, but once they walked onto the dance floor, she asked in subtle amazement, “You know how to dance?” He laughed at her as he set his mostly empty Scotch on a silver platter gliding by him, his newly freed hand nudging at Marta’s glass to get her to finish it. Struggling to keep up, she nearly tripped as she brought the glass up and gracelessly guzzled the last of the cherry cocktail back. At the last bite of alcohol, she grimaced a little and just managed to set her glass down on a passing serving plate when Ransom jerked her around.

She stumbled into his chest with a quiet grunt. Her flimsy stature straightened as his arms framed her, one hand settling against her hip while he clasped her opposite hand and brought them to hover nearer to their heads. Shocked, she looked from the poise of their conjoined hands to the heavy, heated palm at her hip. He nudged her own arm with his elbow and nodded toward his shoulder until she got with the program and put her free hand there. 

He stepped forward, forcing her to step back and follow him. As he lazily twirled them around the extensive dance floor (and Marta looked around wildly to take note of the few other couples enjoying the fanciful jig), Ransom almost chided her, “Marta, my mother wanted a show pony, not a son. I grew up in boarding schools that shoved dance lessons down our throats like it was the only thing that’d make us gentlemen when we walked out into the world.” They paused a beat, before he twisted them around to head back across the dance floor. 

“Then I learned it was a good way to get in a girl’s pants, so I didn’t mind so much,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulder beneath her hand. Marta had been too stupefied to do much more than gape at him and listen, but she couldn’t help huffing in amusement. Her smile grew, because _yeah_ , that sounded more like Ransom. Drawing the shock right back to her face, he halted them and spun her beneath his arm. His guidance made her look more elegant than she felt until she collapsed against his chest as he pulled her back, a wolfish grin settled across his lips. 

“And then I started doing ecstasy and learned that it was just _too much fun_ ,” he growled playfully, lips nearly tipping to hers. He drew back, chuckling where she felt too stupid to (stupid with two o’s). As he collected her back into his arms, he graciously summarized, “So yes… I know how to dance.”

 _Oh God_. Marta still couldn’t find her voice, and her mind was nothing but an excitable buzz as her feet somehow kept pace with his in the simplified waltz. Every layer Ransom peeled back showed something she didn’t expect. Dancing certainly never would’ve been one, and even as her palm started sweating against his suit jacket, she still could hardly believe it. _I’m dancing with Ransom. In a dress that’s probably more expensive than my old salary. What the hell has my life become?_

Before she could embarrass herself over how dumbstruck she was by this charming twist, she cleared her throat and asked, “What was all that about?” Her chin nodded beyond them, though she didn’t know where the hell Jerry had scampered off to. And undesirable grumble escaped Ransom.

“Jerry and I have been in the same circle for years. We tend to get a bit competitive with each other,” he answered simply. _Weirdly charged banter_ Meg had told her. Yeah, she supposed that fit. Falling silent, Marta glanced over Ransom’s arm to survey the party. More people had gathered in the ballroom, a few more joining them on the dance floor, but most sticking to the outskirts. She swore more than a few leers were trained on them, but Ransom startled her out of her surveillance when he spoke again.

“You know, I get it now,” he said, waiting until he had her full attention before he explained further. “After hearing you with Joni the other day, and being here with you now, I get why Harlan left you the fortune.”

“S-sorry?” Marta squeaked, her throat suddenly dry and face hot. She nearly stumbled a step, but Ransom chuckled and pulled her in closer, until their bodies just barely brushed together as they moved. 

“It’s because he knew you’d do something great with it, while we’d just... squander it on ourselves,” he murmured to her. He let the weight of those words sink in on her for a moment before he nodded back toward the crowd. “Look around you. Everyone here… I know a good chuck of them, and people like this don’t get this filthy rich because of the good of their hearts. They’re just doing this to make themselves look better. To the public eye, to themselves…” he trailed off for a moment and shook his head.

When he focused back on Marta with his smoldering blue gaze, she forgot how to breathe. The world boiled down to the two of them and their locked gazes, his smile almost as warm as the amber chandelier light illuminating the room. “But not you. You’re exhaustingly good,” he murmured, before his face scrunched up and he mockingly griped, “Bleh.” He stuck his tongue out, like it disgusted him. Amazed by his ability to ruin even the kindest sentiment, she finally laughed and tilted her head back until he cracked a smile again. 

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said.... ever,“ she admitted slowly, earning a more proper leer from the devilish man.

“You tell anyone, I’m gonna shout about how much of a bitch you are and throw you out in the snow,” he warned, deadpan. She scoffed. 

“Yes, God forbid anyone see you for anything other than the vile creature you are,” she drawled facetiously, earning a hum and a curt nod from Ransom. Huffing again, she shook her head at him and went back to surveying the party. Lingering stares and secret murmurs surrounded them, prompting Marta to admit, “Although I’d say you have everyone here fooled you’re quite the Prince Charming.” 

“I’m not the one everyone’s staring at.”

“Come on,” Marta scoffed, before Ransom pressed her back to dip over his arm. She yipped and felt her back threaten to seize at the unexpected arch when Ransom helped right her again. 

“Marta,” he chided, holding her tight to his chest as they swayed a few final, slow steps. “You’re beautiful, and you’re rich. Everyone either wants you, hates you, or some combination of them both. It’s how it works.” Marta’s brows furrowed as she regarded him.

“And what about you? Is that how you feel about me?” He smirked, and it had something unsettling flurrying through her stomach. She didn’t know what to make of it. Uncertain of herself, and suddenly suffering from a horribly dry throat, Marta tried to clear it and croaked, “We should grab some champagne.” They stopped dancing, and Ransom bowed his arm outward for her to take. 

As they stepped off the dance floor, a waitress passed by with a platter of champagne flutes. Marta couldn’t help feeling watched, so she drank this one a little slower than the last, all while trying not to peer over her shoulder every few moments. Ransom lead the way through the party, until they were encouraged into their dining seats for dinner and the start of the auction. While they ate a fancy salmon number, Ransom explained the auction process.

“You can donate a piece – usually art, or some expensive heirloom – and get a commission off the total auction price. The rest goes to the charity fund.”

“Did you donate anything?”

“Yeah, right,” Ransom scoffed with a derisive laugh, “so this lot can have a laugh at me trying to replenish my funds over a charity case? No way.” Marta frowned as she glanced over her shoulder at him, but an old, priceless painting came up for auction by their good friend Jerry, and a lady across the table from them barked with a callous laugh.

“No doubt he’s trying to make up the funds they lost in boat returns,” the woman drawled sharply. Her friend nodded as they watched Jerry preen for the photographer. They laughed together before the sharp talker said, “Like this’ll get them their good karma in the press back.” Marta blinked, a little stunned, but she went back to eating her dinner swiftly to avoid detection.

“Pay attention to who bids. You’ll notice there are some obvious wars that go on,” Ransom murmured into her ear. He wasn’t wrong. She noticed quickly there were a few different clusters of people that tended to go back and forth on bidding, and it seemed to be far more about who could collect more pieces over their rivals than any enjoyment for the pieces themselves.

“Do they even know what they’re donating for?” Marta couldn’t help asking, her lip curled as her disappointment leaned toward disgust. Ransom chuckled.

“Couldn’t say,” he admitted earnestly, spooning his last bite creamed spinach into his mouth as he lifted from the table. “I’m gonna get us some more drinks,” he announced, before he headed back for the bar. Marta watched him alertly until someone slipped into his seat. Surprised, she blinked and focused on the pretty blonde in her bubblegum dress, the V-neck of it extending _far_ below her sternum. Marta had no idea how it stayed in place with the flimsy spaghetti straps of the dress, or how she looked so elegant, even though the high slit of her dress allowed for most of her milky legs to make their introduction to the world.

“You must be Marta,” she purred, and Marta almost had to be embarrassed over how she’d expected some shrill, valley girl-like voice. Instead, she sounded serene, and well articulated, like some long lost Massachusetts princess. Marta blinked, which didn’t deter the woman’s smile. She held her hand out and introduced, “I’m Kristin Dormer.”

“Hi,” Marta murmured, finally mustering a smile as she shook the woman’s hand.

“Oh, your accent is just adorable!” Kristin purred, legs crossing as she leaned forward in her seat, which drew a whole lot of attention to the massive twins half-contained in her revealing dress. _Is this what Meg was talking about?_ Marta realized, and a dreaded sense of knowing started sinking into her stomach. She tried to glance over Kristin’s platinum blonde head to find Ransom, but Kristin called her attention back by saying, “How are you enjoying the party?”

“Oh it’s…” Marta stalled, unsure what to say all of a sudden when the few words that crossed her mind had her stomach unsettling quickly. Kristin took her silence as an answer and chortled.

“That good, huh? Well. I know a thing or two about-“

“What the hell are you doing in my seat?” Ransom asked as he returned, two glasses in hand. Marta sighed, her chest expanding with the sudden ability to breathe again. His sharp blue eyes fell on the blonde who looked up at him, a cunning smile suddenly plastered over her magenta lips. 

“Ransom,” she crooned. His expression flattened.

“Candy. Oh – no, wait. Sorry. It was Kristy, right?” he mocked, causing Kristin to scowl as he handed Marta’s cherry cocktail off to her. Kristin’s entire demeanor suddenly changed, her lips drawing tight as a venomous leer befell Marta. She scoffed.

“So, what’s this? You were Harlan’s sugar baby, and now Ransom is yours?” she wondered plainly. Marta blanched.

“I wasn’t- I was his _nurse_. I took care of him-!”

“I’ll bet you did,” Kristin chuckled, her head tipping up toward Ransom as she bat her long, fake eyelashes. “Ransom, you’ve become so accommodating as a pauper, serving your Chilean Queen,” she mocked him next, before she glanced back toward Marta with narrowed eyes. “You _are_ from Chile, right? I studied abroad there for a semester when I went to Harvard University, and you look the part.” All that was missing from Kristin’s ignorant rant was a sassy hair flip. Marta actually waited a beat to see if it happened, before a practiced, tired smile quirked her lips.

“You two used to date?” She’d already gathered that, but Kristin’s scorned attitude made it obvious enough.

“Oh, did we. Longer than he and Amanda over there did,” Kristin admitted, pointing toward an auburn-haired beauty across the room, before she gestured toward another sexily-dressed vixen and added, “Or Bianca.” Her hand fell as she looked back to Marta, her hazel eyes reflecting her hatred as she said, “Or you.” Marta’s smile lingered as she tipped her head contemplatively while drawing her drink up to her lips.

“But he never liked you enough to bring you a drink? Or dance with you?” she asked, almost innocently, before she took a pointed sip of her drink. A laugh barked from Ransom, causing Kristin to flush angrily. Lips twitching, Kristin offered a dangerous smile before she lifted from Ransom’s seat.

“Not that this hasn’t been fun, but I’m sure there’s more sophisticated company I can find.” She sauntered off with her head held high. Ransom rolled his eyes as he slipped into his seat again and sipped on his scotch. Marta quieted, her head bowing as she tapped the black straw inside her drink against the bottom of the glass a few times. After a second sip of his own, Ransom noticed her conflicted expression and nudged her arm.

“That shit didn’t get to you, did it?” Marta stared at him blankly, which strangely made him feel vulnerable about the inquiry. Why the fuck did _he_ care? Leaning back in his chair, he took another sip of Scotch before he muttered, “Wouldn’t have taken you for the jealous type.” Brows knitting, Marta shook her head and looked back down at her drink.

“Is this really what people think? About me and Harlan?” Marta finally asked.

“Ah.” _Of course._ Pursing his lips, he shrugged a little as he looked around the ball and admitted, “Well, it’s the most interesting of the news stories.”

“You were right.” Ransom glanced toward her once she uttered the abysmal words. She looked like a kicked puppy, and his lips twitched toward a frown.

“About what?”

“All of it. The media, the ball, the people,” she said, waving her hand around them to indicate what she’d meant, and _wow_. Why didn’t that feel more satisfying to hear? He felt a little like she’d kicked him back, and wasn’t that just… fucking infuriating. 

“Well… that’s why I said what I did before,” he finally muttered, shifting a little uncomfortably in his seat. When their eyes met again, he reminded her, “You’ll do it better… whatever it is you decide to do with the money.” Marta’s already glazed eyes turned more dewy as she looked at him, a stupidly pretty smile quirking her lips. For a second, Ransom found it a little hard to breathe. Forcing himself to exhale, he leaned a little closer to her and asked, “You wanna get out of here? Find something more fun to do for the rest of the night?”

She nodded graciously, so they finished their drinks and he took her hand, and they fled the pretentious ball for the streets of Boston in search of something better.


	23. Grit and Grime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ransom and Marta get up to shenanigans after the ball, and they have a lasting effect on the duo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a bit, but it's like... 70% smut so hopefully that makes up for it?
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter: recreational drug use and light bondage/SORTA knife play, so if you're squeamish with pill popping or this particular kind of kink, ye be warned.

The brisk Boston air nipped at their skin, what little of it was exposed to the elements, as they walked the streets. Marta had found a steadier step with her simple heels, and they clacked loudly against the sidewalk as she kept pace with Ransom. Her arm clung heavily to his, partially to help her gait, and partially to keep them huddled together against the chilly wind that end of year night. While she hunched within her coat, his eyes scanned the streets in search of something.

After a few swift, thoughtful steps, Marta couldn’t help uttering, “Kristin seemed…”

“Like a whorish bitch?” Ransom finished for her, his own malice finally creeping forth through his tone. Surprised, Marta glanced up at him briefly, before focusing on the sidewalk again.

“I was going to say scorned,” she muttered a little cautiously. Ransom chuckled humorlessly.

“Yeah. I scorned her when she ran two grand up on my credit card bill and decided it was time for her to move all her shit into my house.” And by fucking her best friend simultaneously, but _he_ didn’t see a problem with that when they’d never been exclusive, so he didn’t mention it. 

He wasn’t some old-fashioned, ‘go steady’ kind of guy, which made it a little astounding Marta gathered from that, “So you _were_ serious.”

“I’ve never been serious about anything in my life,” Ransom scoffed, before he gripped Marta’s arm and tugged them both to a halt and said, “Here.” They’d made it a few blocks away from the charity ball, and walked up to a heavy black door that looked far more ominous than the hotel they’d just been at. 

“Where are we?” Marta asked as Ransom gripped both his hands around the thick handle of the doorway and tugged. It took another, harsher yank from his bulging muscles for the door to crank open with a horrid sound. Marta grimaced, and looked down a long, dank hallway with only a minor sense of apprehension.

“Back entrance to a club I used to frequent,” Ransom explained, holding the door open until Marta stepped in before him. He made sure to close it and give another curt tug, before he let go and followed her down the dimly lit corridor. “Had a friend who worked here and showed me that. The door gets stuck, so it’s a good enough deterrent for most, but it can’t lock. We used to slip in through there all the time to avoid the lines and cover charges,” he explained, chuckling a little at the fond memory. Marta just pouted at him.

“All your money, and you avoid paying for things?”

“Of course.” Astounded by his nonchalance, she shook her head at him. For a second, their scuffling shoes sounded deafening, and Marta’s breath grew a little more labored remembering the last time she was in such an ominous place. Her life had been ready to fall into shambles, and the sight of Fran pale and wheezing, a large black spider creeping over her face was a hard thing to forget. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest, and nearly stopped altogether when Ransom lightly pushed her against the wall and came to face her. 

“Speaking of ecstasy,” he murmured, as if they’d just been talking about it and she wasn’t mildly close to panicking. Their dance felt like hours ago now, but he pried a small plastic bag out from inside his coat with two circular pills rattling around inside. Marta’s heart jolted into her throat as she gripped his hand and pulled it down between them.

“Ransom!” she hissed, cheeks heating as she glanced down the hall to where two other people could suddenly be heard laughing. The distinct smell of cigarettes plumed toward them as Ransom himself laughed. Her fluster never ceased to entertain him, and he tipped his head while admiring her doe-eyed look.

“Come on, Marta,” he goaded, leaning closer to her until he’d captivated her gaze again. "You’ve spent your entire life taking care of other people, but now you have the means _not_ to worry about that every second of every day. Live a little,” he encouraged, bobbing his wrist beneath her vice grip to get the pills to jingle within the bag. “Just for a few hours. Then you can go back to being your stuffy, angelic self.” Lips parted, Marta almost flushed from the idle insult.

“I’m not an angel,” Marta nearly pouted, bringing a wicked smile to Ransom’s lips. 

“Prove it.” _Bad idea, Marta._ She knew it. Everything _about_ Ransom Drysdale was a bad idea. The pretty playboy who didn’t take anything seriously, who wanted to twist her up and break her shell, as he’d told her. She knew reverse psychology when she saw it, but at the same time… she couldn’t deny she felt tempted. She was so sick of everything. Of fighting for her life, her rights, and her goddamn sanity. Of taking care of everyone and their mother. The lies, the slander, and everything else in between.

 _You’re an idiot,_ she scolded herself, before she told herself, _just for a few hours._ “Fine,” she griped aloud, impulsively reaching between them to take possession of the bag and take one of the pills out. Without much further thought, she slapped it toward the back of her throat and swallowed, and immediately regretted it so much she almost had that panic attack.

What if this was a trick? What if she was just another dumb schmuck like Fran who expected Ransom to be decent when he met her in some creepy, rank setting?

Stupid, _stupid_.

He smiled then, and she forgot how to think for a second until he brought up the other pill from the bag and popped it into his mouth.

Swallowing, he set his hand to the side of her face and dipped down to kiss her. Lush and hot, she felt the axis of her world tilt as she sunk into that kiss, their lips parting so tongues could meet with vigor. When he drew away, he snagged her hand and tugged her along, leading her through the eerie corridors until a low bass thudded through the walls, and another black door came into view. When it whined open, reverberating neon lights, darkness, and thudding beats suddenly consumed them.

A black painted wall separated them from most of the rest of the club, the bathrooms surrounding them on either side where they’d entered through a door that said _Employees Only_. Ransom paid it little mind as he walked around the little felt rope supposed to further keep people from the forbidden door. Marta’s heart thundered a little louder, but she took his hand and stumbled up beside him. He paused them there, hidden from most everyone save the few drunks stumbling to and from the bathroom. They paid the silent couple no mind as Ransom led them into shedding their coats.

Once Ransom had his own slung over one arm, he undid his bowtie and popped open the top few buttons of his dress shirt, giving him a far more casual look. He took some time rolling his sleeves up toward his elbow while Marta stood there, feeling wildly out of place and uncertain of this next adventure. He took Marta’s coat from her to collect with his own, before he winked at her and rolled off the wall. She followed him stupidly, and felt a little better once they stepped into the main, open space of the club.

While not dressed _quite_ so ritzy as them, everyone had on some variation of formal wear. Sparkly dresses, button-ups, suspenders and suit jackets, fedoras and New Years’ crowns flashing beneath the laser lights all gave way to the theme of the end of the year party. Ransom chuckled, and nearly rolled his eyes as he muttered, “Roaring twenties. Nice. Original.” He maneuvered the crowd to get toward the square bar counter at the center of the space, and flashed a winning smile to catch the bartender’s attention. 

“Coupla waters, and can you put these behind the bar for us?” Ransom asked the bartender, a pretty little brunette who glared daggers at him until she noticed the $50 he had extended toward her as well. She took their bundle of coats and scarves to stuff under the bar counter, before going to get their drinks as Ransom said, “Thanks, Doll.”

Marta snorted, looking up at him incredulously while questioning the use of, “Doll?” Ransom chuckled, a sly half-smirk taking his face. His mirthful blue eyes flickered toward her, and she nearly lost her wits at the look.

“Not everyone gets Sweetheart and Beautiful,” he teased, stupefying her further. Huffing, she flushed horribly and shook her head, unsure what else to do with the indirect praise. Thankfully, the bartender saved her by laying their cup of waters out before them. Ransom nodded to her in thanks, before he pushed Marta’s toward her and encouraged, “Gotta stay hydrated.” It was obvious by this point Ransom was no stranger to drugs, but his instant care in it with her surprised Marta a little. 

She took the water wordlessly and sipped it down, not realizing just how parched she was until the cool liquid slid down her throat. Humming appreciatively, she drank its entirety in a few short moments. Ransom drank his more slowly, but took both their cups once they were empty and set them aside on a random high top table nestled against the wall. He wrapped his arm around Marta then and drew her back so she stood before him, back braced to his chest. His hands remained resting against her hips and he tipped his cheek against her temple in a way that had her heart fluttering madly.

“Do you know what to expect?” he murmured in her ear a moment later, the sound of his rich voice shockingly clear through the thudding music.

“Academically,” she admitted slowly. He hummed, and she could feel him smile against the side of her face. He kissed her cheek then, gentle and warm, and Marta realized how comfortable she felt wrapped up in his arms, resting against him. A strange, thrumming current rippled under her skin that also kept her alert and longing for more. As the minutes ticked by with them watching the party around them, grinding bodies and delighted shouts accompanying the music, that current grew.

Ransom’s fingers slid over her silky dress in a hypnotizing rhythm, causing her lashes to flutter more than once. Her skin tingled to life everywhere, and the music suddenly sounded as if it beat from her very soul. When her body couldn’t seem to stop moving, her eyes glittered from how impossibly dilated they’d become, and her fingers wandered her own silken arms in amazement, Ransom leaned up from the wall. He clapped the side of her rear twice, before guiding her forward by pressing at her hips.

He maneuvered them into the crowd, his high far more tame than Marta’s thus far, which wasn’t surprising when it was obvious she’d never done this before. Admittedly, he remained surprised she’d so easily agreed in the first place, and proved either how much she’d hated the ball (possibly even the last couple months of her life as a whole) or how much she’d grown to trust Ransom. He didn’t much care for the reason in that moment, only the immediate payout.

An irresistible song came on, one that had his own nerves thrumming. His hand gripped to her hip a little more firmly, drawing her back while he stepped closer. They slotted together perfectly, the simple brush of fabric seeming so much more potent than a little while ago. Startled, Marta glanced over her shoulder with her big, dilated eyes. Ransom smirked, dazzling Marta almost as much as his bright eyes did. He swayed his hips into hers, to the left, and then the right, his body slowly picking up the beat of the song until she realized what he was doing.

_Oh God._

If she thought dancing with Ransom before had been stunning, she was utterly unprepared for how his pelvis ground into her satin-covered rear. The pressure almost had a shiver rolling up her spine. The music beat through her chest, making Ransom’s guidance all too easy to give in to as she bounced before him with a growing sway in her own hips. They rolled together, the friction so sweet, heat as perfect as the movement itself was. Life became nothing outside of the popping music flowing through them, the race of the crowd around them, and the blissful glide of their bodies moving in tandem. 

She hadn’t done this in _years_. Not since college, and maybe never this unhinged. Where she was so taken by a moment, so present and overcome by the experience. Light, carefree, and having more fun than she could rightly contain. Admittedly, Ransom brought her to this state often, but tonight it went into hyper-drive. Her euphoria bubbled out of her in incessant giggles or involuntary moans as they moved together. The music used her as its vessel, her nerves buzzing alight with every blissful sensation. Ransom’s fingers stimulated her sensitized skin with near blinding pleasure as he caressed along her bare arm and squeezed her satin-clad hip. 

He couldn’t stop his own hands from roaming, the cool, silky feel of her dress enticing him as their bodies rolled together. She arched against his chest, fingers winding into his hair where she couldn’t let go, the lush softness of his dark strands amazing her. The music infected them with lust and need, but neither could break away from the raunchy grind they found themselves captive to, the pulsing energy of the crowd only sweeping them away further. Time sped up and stopped all at once, the rush of music, of people, sweat, and lust, and alcohol all intoxicating them further as they burned through the hours in this ascended state.

They’d flipped around at some point, legs straddling each other’s, Marta’s fingers gripped to his chest and shoulder while Ransom kept a gracious hand on her rear to keep them together. Their breaths felt heavy and in sync; every piece of them seeming so interconnected Marta didn’t know how she’d ever existed without him, without this moment. If rationality hadn’t abandoned her, she’d likely assume the drugs were thinking for her, but as she looked into Ransom’s blown pupils, it didn’t at all feel crazy to realize, _Maybe I’m not just good for him. Maybe he’s good for me, too._ A new remix thudded to life as they danced face to face, mesmerized by one another.

_I’m not myself,  
I’m not myself when you’re around, no.  
It can’t be helped.  
We are insane that’s just the way it goes._

Machine Gun Kelly’s _Why Are You Here_ played over some pop-techno mixed beat as their tingling fingers wandered the sleek barriers of clothing separating them and their hips rolled together in a lewd dance.

_I’m a demon in the night,  
She’s an angel with the white.  
Told her keep on all the lights,  
You can show me what you like._

Those words struck him. His eyes flickered over her beautiful face, sweat slicking her hairline and glazing her flawless skin, her makeup holding up well only because of the quality of the product. Her hair, on the other hand, had lost its volume and curled about her shoulders in a wild mess, but the wild look enticed him far more. His hand suddenly fisted into her damp locks, and he dragged her up into a bruising, starved kiss. Whatever spell had chained them to the present shattered abruptly.

The song guided them with a fantastic suggestion. It wasn’t exactly 12:05, but they crashed into the bathroom, lips still locked and nipping at one another. Ransom barely managed to flip the lock in place on the door before his arms circled around her waist and he lifted her up. A lewd groan punched out of both of them, their tongues grinding rigorously as Ransom pressed Marta up against the wall. 

His hands skimmed lower, bunching up the fabric of her skirt in one hand while the other pushed the slit higher up her hip. Marta’s nails clawed his shirt open, a wanton groan leaving him once her fingers started scratching his bare chest in the process. She only got halfway down before he bucked into her, his hands scooping beneath her thighs to perch her against his waist. Her body throbbed with need, a desperate gasp sucking into her lungs as she coiled one leg around Ransom’s waist and pressed her other heel into the porcelain curve of the bathroom sink.

She slid her palm along the curve of his jaw, admiring the angle of it when their eyes met. For a moment, they slowed, admiration bleeding through their softened, wanton expressions. Ransom tipped forward and kissed her again, the passion thrumming through his lips in a physical sense. He felt ready to burst from all he felt, from the bliss to the adoration he felt for the woman in his arms. She slid her tongue along his bottom lip, eliciting a sharp groan from him that had his fingers gripping the thin lace panties barring him from her center.

She mewled into their kiss as his curled fingers stroked her folds, and a rush of wetness suddenly threatened to ooze out of her. Her breath ghosted over his spit-slicked lips in a hot rush, needy and eager for more. Gripping one hand beneath her rear, he kept her pinned against the wall while his other hand gripped wholly around the front of the lace. With a few forceful tugs like he had at the sticky door, he ripped the feeble hems of the lace. Marta yipped, her lips parting and cheeks flushing swiftly as Ransom tossed the tattered garment behind him and crushed her back against the wall.

Her skirts billowing over one side of his legs, he had little trouble testing her wet folds with a few fingers, her strangled squeals reverberating around the empty bathroom. Her back arched against the wall, hand clamping atop one of the stall’s divider walls beside them. Ransom wasted little time before he unzipped his trousers and let his eager cock spring free. 

At midnight, while everyone else obnoxiously shouted the countdown and kissed the person next to them, Ransom buried himself balls deep into Marta and listened to her scream.

 _Happy fucking New Year._

~*~

Ransom stared out the tinted town car window as their driver drove them home. He glanced down toward his lap quickly, where Marta’s head rested against his thigh as she curled up along the backseat, her eyes closed so she could savor the manufactured feeling of floating. His hand rested against her arm, and an imperceptible smile quirked his lips at how blissfully peaceful she looked. He let his skin wander hers, the lingering effects of the ecstasy causing her to gasp quietly.

Raunchy and dirty as it may have been, they’d made love in that bathroom, and neither could quite shake the level of serenity it had given them. They’d escaped the club quickly after that, Marta’s shredded panties the only casualty to their night. Even Marta couldn’t deny it had been worth it, every press of Ransom’s lips against her skin and thrust of his hips into hers cemented in her mind. 

“You hungry?” Ransom asked after awhile, his rich voice tickling her ear. Her still dilated eyes flickered open, and she shifted her head against his leg to look up at him. For a moment, she just blinked at his beauty, a half-smirk lazily quirking his still bruised lips. She reached her arm up and flexed her fingers to caress his chin as he said, “We still have that Boston Cream Pie leftover from our delivery yesterday.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, pleased. Lashes fluttering, she shifted her cheek back onto his leg and closed her eyes. He didn’t pry for a further answer, and the two resumed their tranquil silence until they arrived back at the antiquated mansion. They shifted their coats back on, and Ransom paid their driver while Marta stepped out of the car. He shuffled out after her once the deed was done, and the two headed inside in their comfortable silence.

While Ransom went to collect what was left of the custard cake, Marta let the dogs out. It took a bit of coaxing to get them to stop sniffing at her and Ransom, the breaths peppered with snorts and whimpers, but once they scented the fresh evening air, they took off into the darkness. Marta chuckled a little, but returned to the kitchen to join Ransom at the wooden table he’d once pinned her to. Their antagonistic beginnings were far from either’s mind, the call of baked sweets holding their attention. 

Ransom passed Marta a spoon once she shed her coat and let it rest against the back of a chair. Neither even bothered taking a seat, merely bowing to their elbows to spoon at the remnants of the dessert and gorge their hungry mouths. Marta licked her lips in fascination as the creamy, buttery cake exploded on her taste buds. She quickly took another bite when Ransom’s phone screen illuminated where it rested beside his arm and buzzed against the table with a text notification. He ignored it, and Marta was ready to when it buzzed again.

Kristin’s name popped out at her, before another text collected under the 6 others she’d sent through the duration of that night. Brows lifting, she huffed a little. Dark eyes lifted to Ransom’s ignorant expression and she pointed her spoon toward his phone. “Kristin’s texted you a lot tonight,” she noted. Ransom scoffed and kept his glare on the dwindling cake.

“She’s a fame chaser,” he explained simply, finally meeting her gaze. “It’s why she sat by you tonight. Guarantee there’s at least one tabloid tomorrow that publishes something about ‘trouble in paradise’ for us, and she’s just trying to milk it by texting me.” 

“What?” Despite all she’d learned in a few short weeks, Marta’s face still fell in absolute shock. Ransom huffed at her, though refrained from rolling his eyes.

“I told you. Want you or hate you,” he repeated.

“Or both,” she added, realization slowly sinking in. She stared at Ransom’s rigid stance, and as delectable as it made his musculature look, she suddenly understood, “That’s how it was for you? Or – is?” He snorted while his tongue massaged into the curve of his spoon, cheeks lazily sucking a spoonful of cake into a mushy blob to swallow. 

“Hmm,” he mumbled instead of outright saying, _Nice save, Marta_. Removing the spoon from his mouth, he licked his lips and properly swallowed before he looked at Marta coyly. He studied her for a moment before goading, “You worried I might text her back?” Her head tipped as she studied him back, and he almost admired the way she tried to dissect his actions now. Attentive, calculating, Marta was the strangest, most worthy opponent he’d ever met, and he still didn’t understand her half as much as he would’ve liked.

“It’d be strange for you to go through all this trouble to woo me, only to abandon me now,” she theorized, spoon bobbing between her fingertips while she thought. Licking her lips a final time, she hummed and pushed up from the table. As she walked toward the sink to let her spoon go, she mused, “Though… I suppose that _does_ sound like you.” Glancing over her shoulder at him, she elaborated with two simple words; “Self-sabotage.”

He pushed up from his own lean against the table and twisted toward her, head tipped with intrigue. “Would you like that? For me to sabotage myself again?” His inquiry had one of Marta’s brows lifting, and an almost sly smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

“And lose out on my new bitch boy?” Despite her teasing tone, Ransom immediately scowled. His lip twitched, fury brightening his eyes until he noticed how her own only glinted more mirthfully. He stepped toward her, and nearly paused when she shuffled back. Pausing was a mistake, but he couldn’t help lifting his brows as she took off with a laugh, her bare feet pattering against the wood.

“Oh you little-“ he took off after her thoughtlessly, her laughter making his heart sing as he scampered through the halls after her. They crossed the main sitting room, through the front foyer and across to the other side of the mansion. Thoughtlessly, Ransom grabbed Marta’s blue shawl off the coat rack near the front door before continuing his pursuit of the rambunctious vixen. She couldn’t even explain her impulse, and running through the mansion was more fun than it rightly should’ve been.

Her heart pounded as she ran into the library, aiming the circle the house, when Ransom finally caught her. She yipped as his arm snagged around her waist, dragging her back into him with a grunt. Her feet kicked out before her before their weight sunk together and Ransom twisted her around. “Marta,” he scolded, the rumble of his voice rippling through her. She nearly squeaked until her eyes lowered to where her fingers gripped around Ransom’s forearm.

Her own skin tingled as Ransom’s other hand slipped her silk shawl between her wrists. He wrapped it wholly around one wrist, before looping it around the other. He drew his arm out of her grasp and twisted the shawl around itself twice more to secure her bind before he pulled it tight and jerked her arms over her head. She gasped a little, spine going rigid as he bent her arms back, restraining her in front of him. His free hand skimmed along her neck before he gently squeezed his hand around her.

Her hips bucked back, grinding into his pelvis as the rest of her shuddered against his chest. Pleasantly surprised, Ransom chuckled and teased, “Do you have a new kink?”

“I don’t-“ she had no idea what she’d been about to say, her whole body still a little sensitized from the fading ecstasy and shivering to life as Ransom slipped his hand behind her shoulder to slowly drag the zipper of her dress down her spine. Where she’d left the comment had Ransom’s eyes narrowing.

“Liar,” he accused, causing Marta to frown and glance over her shoulder at him. One big, dilated eye fixated on him innocently, before her lips parted in want as his hand smoothed over the bare, soft flesh of her back. Her gaze twinkled eagerly, and Ransom realized something amazing he filed away for later. His lazy smirk fell short when he realized the immediate bind he’d put _himself_ in. Clucking his tongue at himself, he murmured near her ear, “Guess I’m gonna have to rip more of your clothes tonight.”

Goose bumps prickled along the back of her neck while Ransom’s gaze wandered toward the infamous wheel of knives. He knew now there was only one real knife in the whole library, and it wasn’t on the wheel. Marta, the sentimental saint she was, had tried to salvage all she could from the old, burnt library desk. Among those items was a particularly sharp letter opener that now rested atop the new wooden desk in the room. He pushed her toward it, before he paused and redirected her toward one of the absurd, heavy bronze statues beside the bookshelves. 

The rearing, roaring lion was one among many of its kind, but this was one of the largest renditions of the guardian beasts. Ransom reached up and hooked Marta’s silk binds around a long, curved fang. “Don’t move,” he warned, earning another delightful shiver from Marta. She didn’t, other than to watch over her arm as he approached the library desk and picked up the letter opener. She stilled, eyes going a little wide as he stalked closer with the blade poised in hand.

She couldn’t deny a somewhat unpleasant chill swept through her body, prickling her skin to life with a wave of goose bumps. She straightened a moment later, her bottom lip protruding with her frown. She eyed the letter opening and clarified, “You’re going to cut my dress off?”

“Well, I’m not untying you, and it needs to come off,” he teased, touching the tip of the blade to the dress’ silver shoulder strap. She clucked her tongue at him in disapproval.

“So wasteful.” He covered her mouth with his palm, and he watched her eyes twinkle with barely contained desire. A sly smirk broadened his lips.

“You can get it repaired if it means so much to you, or I’ll buy you a new one – I really don’t care. But for now…” he trailed off as he skimmed the flat side of the tiny blade along Marta’s collar. Her chest heaved a few time, heart pounding nervously until he flicked the sharp point up to cut the top of the dress’ oval cutout open. “This’ll do,” he praised, watching the severed material sag away from Marta’s sternum. It didn’t give him much, just a greater tease of flesh. 

He let his hand slip from her mouth so he could grip one strap of her dress. He pulled it up from her skin to safely start slicing through the seam between satin and the coarse silver padding. Marta’s fingers curled into the mouth of the lion, her knuckles turning white as she trembled a little when one side of the dress gave. She looked up to her bound wrists while Ransom ripped through the other strap, and the dress slipped to the floor unceremoniously.

How many times had she had this dream? Or some variation of it, where Ransom tied her down and had his way. She’d started thinking it was her subconscious trying to cope with the reality of how he’d trapped her, her lingering fear that he was twisting her. But now she really had to wonder if this _was_ some kind of kink – for someone to take her, keep her, and show her how to let go in such a sublime way. 

Ransom leered over her bared figure, her back muscles flexing as she subconsciously tugged on her silk binds. He let his fingers skim up the curve of her backside, goose bumps gaining renewed life as his fingers tickled over her hip and massaged across her lower abdomen. He stepped up behind her, his still clothed figure bumping into her flesh reminding Marta of just how vulnerable a position he had her in. Her mind blanked out when he cupped his hand between her legs, his fingers easily slipping between her folds, which were still slick from their rambunctious antics a few hours ago.

A strangled mewl escaped her. Her head lulled back, and it only took a few languid strokes of her clit for her to start whimpering. Knees growing weak, she kept upright by the snag the lion’s tooth hand on her wrists. She sunk onto his hand, hips shifting of their own accord to grind his fingers against her harder. A breath stuttered from him, his own attention becoming enraptured by the excitable vixen in his grasp. His other hand smoothed over her breast while he strummed her clit, her pleasure centers budding to life with each practiced tweak of his fingers.

Her juices oozed from her once his fingers dipped past her entrance, and she bucked harder against his hand. Back arching as he pinched her nipple, she whimpered a desperate, “Please.”

“Please what?” Ransom murmured in her ear, his breath tickling against her neck. Panting, she let her head fall back against his shoulder.

“Fuck me, Ransom,” she whispered to him, her eyes bright with desire. Biting back a groan, he smoothed his hand down her toned navel, pressing her back against him. Her circled his finger against her clit one last time, until she bucked into his hardened cock and he felt his own resolve break. He unzipped his slacks, and pushed them down with his briefs. His raging erection sprang free, and he gripped his shaft while tugging Marta’s hips back. He nudged her onto her toes while he lined his head up with her entrance.

Desire warmed him from the inside out as his cock kissed inside her wet heat. He slipped in easily, her walls consuming him with a teasing clench. Teeth gritted, he growled out a breath as he bottomed out. She whimpered, her head hanging between her raised arms. Before she could shift her hips against him, he kicked her leg out, spreading her cunt open for him and making her precarious balance suddenly dependent on his thick cock. 

When he snapped his hips back and drilled into her, a wanton whimper escaped her. She twisted her wrists in their binds as his hips slapped into hers, a part of her desperate to break free. She could, if she wanted to. The beauty of Ransom’s trap this time was that she could easily lift her arms and pry the knot in the shawl out. A choked noise escaped her when his cock pierced deep into her center, the heat building inside her intensifying with each thrust. Her whole body tingled with pleasure already, his fingernails searing crescent marks into her flesh to join the bruises already imprinted around her hips.

No part of her wanted to escape him then.

One hand left its hold on her to fist into her hair. He tugged her head back toward his shoulder and latched onto her racing pulse point at the side of her neck, the lewd swipe of his tongue making her heart rate speed up. Her breath rattled as the silk tightened and strained around her wrists, Ransom’s relentless tug pulling her one way while his hips threatened to snap her weight forward. Only his other hand, still pulling her pelvis back into his, kept her steady as he fucked her raw and senseless.

His teeth nipped at her jaw, a ragged pant escaping him as her drenching cunt quivered around him with the threat of climax. “Come on, Beautiful,” he breathed, the wrecked drag of his voice making her shudder, “scream for me.” His hand released her hair, only to press down at her shoulders, bowing her forward until her arms threatened to scream in protest when they were still caught upright overhead. He pulled her hips back, forcing her rear up just enough that when he pumped his cock inside her, the pressure he dragged against her g-spot had her crying out reflexively.

He steadily picked up the pace, cock pounding into her with enough force to punch a rhythmic yelp from her each time he burrowed into her wholly. Ransom’s head was spinning, his body a mindless nerve of pleasure, but he started to catch the broken Spanish pouring out between her pleasurable cries. He suddenly grew rabid, his fingers biting into her hips as he bucked his into her harder and faster, until all she could do was scream as her walls clenched around his cock with the intent to strangle him. A filthy groan escaped him, and he managed to push through her orgasm twice more before his own swept through him. 

Choking on his pleasure, his muscles seized as his burrowed cock spilled his come deep into her still trembling walls. For a second, all he could process outside of the electric throb of their groins, was the sound of their panting breaths. When he finally managed to pry his bleary eyes open, he admired the stunning sight before him. The perfect curve of her ass, and elegant arch of her spine. He smoothed his hand up it, marveling at how her trembling muscles coiled under the attention. His fingers twisted into her hair again, and he jerked her head back toward him while bowing his chest into her back. 

“You’re mine,” Ransom growled in her ear, his breath heavy and grip possessive enough to cause Marta to shiver in want. As he tipped back, however, pulling away from her with an unceremonious grunt, she unhooked her wrists from the lion’s tooth and twisted on him, her dark eyes meeting his intently. Her cheeks were flushed, sweat glazing her skin, and their come threatened to spill between her legs any second, but a wildfire had lit in her gaze because there was something pertinent in all this she knew he was trying to ignore. 

“And you’re mine, Ransom,” she said raggedly, and determinedly. Ransom stilled, his eyes dilating all over again as his dick gave a valiant twitch from her confidence, and his heart thundered to her promise. He didn’t experience fight or flight often, but he wasn’t the only one in this duo flipping the world on its head. He wanted to shy away from her claim, call bullshit… but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, and as the seconds ticked on he wasn’t sure he wanted to. 

Because there was no escaping it, was there? They both knew it as their lips sealed the deal in an ardent kiss.

They were boundlessly, _frighteningly_ , in love.


	24. The Game's Afoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the bubble of the holidays fading, Ransom and Marta once again have to deal with some real world pressures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, these poor dumb babies are all happy and in love, so lets throw some plot at them.
> 
> I hope everyone is staying safe from all the crazy things out there in the world right now, and are keepin' healthy and sane in these strange times! Hopefully my brand of crazy helps with the quarantine a bit xD (if you're in an area where that's necessary).

Days after New Years, when some normalcy (if there was such a thing for them) had returned to their lives, Marta reminded him of the call she’d received the day before. “I have to go see Ms. Keller today. She wants to meet Mama and discuss her immigration case,” she explained, looking into his eyes expectantly. He smiled tightly and nodded.

“Have fun,” he murmured simply.

“What?” Marta’s face fell, uncomprehending for a good ten seconds. Lips parting, she debated with herself on whether this was a trick or not, before outright asking, “You’re letting me go alone?” Ransom huffed, his smile broadening in a devilish, lopsided way. There was something absent from his expression that morning, but his eyes still twinkled a little as he searched her face.

“I trust you.” She couldn’t stop her heart from swelling at those three simple words. It wasn’t something she would’ve cared for, or even wanted just a month ago. Now, joy and wonder swept through her, powerful enough that she surged forward and leapt into his arms, her lips crushing to his to share her enthusiasm. A breathy chuckle slipped from him as his hands caught around her waist and he returned the needy pressure of her kiss.

“I’ll come back,” she breathed once their lips parted, her face flushed and eyes glittering at him. And she didn’t throw up. A half-smirk quirked Ransom’s lips. He almost felt sorry for her. The poor, innocent beauty who didn’t see her opportunity to escape him finally, or maybe just didn’t care for it any longer. His plan had worked better than he’d ever expected, at least in part. She was his, and at this point, she willingly chose to stay that way. 

Ironically, he didn’t know what to do with the genuine passion she showered him in, but he kissed her once more and set her back to her own feet. With one last bright, beautiful smile, she twisted around and fled him for the time being. 

Maybe if she knew what he was going to do in her absence, she’d change her mind about coming back.

His smile slipped away the second she was gone, cloudy eyes watching her beat up hatchback buzz down the driveway. He chuffed derisively and shook his head, making a mental note to ridicule her for her lack of automotive upgrade some time later. Twisting around, he moved toward the living room. His hand swiped atop the mail pile, the envelope he’d scooped up immediately drawing his eyes downward. The fancy printed letters of a Boston courthouse stared up at him, and despite how it was addressed to Marta, he tore it open. 

A summons, for civil court. The plaintiffs? Linda Drysdale, Walt and Donna Thrombey, and Joni Thrombey, suing Marta Cabrera and Hugh R. Drysdale for the tortious acts of emotional distress and financial loss. His jaw clenched, but he lifted his gaze from the summons to turn the TV on. He flicked toward the news, and wasn’t at all surprised the upcoming civil case was already prime gossip news. His eyes turned to ice as he watched a reporter trail his mother, her snowy hair tousled to perfection and crisp business suit flashier than the reporter’s.

_”Mrs. Drysdale, Mrs. Drysdale!”_

_”Thrombey, please. Richard and I are in the process of a divorce, and I won’t be keeping his name,”_ Linda snapped curtly, her walk still brisk and eyes trained ahead, like the reporter meant nothing. Ransom sneered, because he could tell how much the peacock in her was soaking the attention up. The reporter ignored her to press her questions.

 _”Do you have anything to say on the civil lawsuit you're bringing against Marta Cabrera and your son, Hugh R. Drysdale?”_ His mother laughed as she reached her expensive Lexus, the sleek steely color utterly spotless. She popped the door open before bothering to face the reporter.

 _“Oh, I have something to say, alright. And let me tell you, when those two murderous, gold-digging little shits hear it, they’ll know it’s game over.”_ The smile his mother gave to the camera before slipping inside her car immediately set Ransom on edge. Tugging his phone out, he called his lawyer and captured the phone between his cheek and shoulder to put the TV on mute. She picked up once he completed his task, and he twisted away from the irrelevant news story to focus on the conversation about to unfold.

“Does my mother have the recording of my confession?” he asked, not bothering to introduce himself. She knew his number, and she knew what he was calling about. She hummed languidly into the phone.

“I can’t discuss client information,” she taunted at first. Even his private lawyer liked to play games, but he had no patience for them that morning.

“That’s _my_ information!”

“Which if she plans to use in a prosecution against you, I wouldn’t have unless a trial’s been set because I’m your _defense attorney_ , you dummy. That file loss didn’t happen through my office,” she reminded, and he could hear her eyes rolling through her tone. At least he’d snapped her into business mode. “And even if I _did_ have it to share with you, you know she’d have copies stashed around. Just in case your fist slipped and broke it,” she mocked, proving she knew his whole family a little _too_ well. He looked down at the letter still in his hand.

“Well I’ve been summoned,” he said, knowing an identical one was waiting for him at his own modern mansion, “so find out who her prosecution is and find out what their case is.”

“I’ll need your summons letter.”

“Fine. I’ll get it to you this afternoon.”

“You know,” his lawyer taunted, that playful purr resuming in her voice as she said, “a civil court case is going to be a boring spectacle... and thus more expensive.” He hung up and went to get ready for an impromptu trip to his own home.

~*~ 

The stack of mail waiting for Ransom was alarming at first, until he threw out the half that was coupons and advertisements. He sifted through the remainder, bills and subscription notices he still had himself listed for (and made a mental note to cancel at least half of them), and finally found the one he was looking for. The same fancy court scrawling at the top, block letters addressing the notice to him… he rolled his eyes and pocketed it with Marta’s letter, and then looked around his empty home.

It felt strange being here now, after so many weeks living under his grandfather’s roof. He looked around a little uncertainly until his eyes honed in on the basement stairs and he remembered his gym. _I have the time to kill,_ he told himself while shedding his coat. He left it draped over the back of the couch while he trudged downstairs and took full advantage of the curtailed space. Half the basement had been furbished into a gym, with a mat covering the floor and a full-mirrored wall on one end. Several different types of workout and lifting equipment filled the space, and he spent the better part of an hour working his muscles until they burned and he’d developed a sweat.

He took a shower and went into his room to grab some forgotten clothes. A thin, silky long-sleeved shirt was pulled up from his drawers, the cream color immediately brightening his eyes. He slipped it on and drew a dark cardigan over it that matched his slacks. Stuffing a bag full of some more clothes, he grabbed his mail and stuffed it in the bag too on his way out. He locked his front door and adjusted his brown coat against his side as he turned off the stoop and froze.

Richard Drysdale’s dumb face stared at him from the driveway. A smile quirked his lips as he awkwardly waved at his son, who glowered at him a moment before he briskly walked down his walkway to get to his beamer. “What the hell are you doing here?” Ransom snapped at his father as he breezed past.

“Well, I came to check on you, of course. You haven’t returned any of my calls,” Richard said, following after him.

“Uh huh.” Ransom made a show of rolling his eyes as he opened his car door and tossed his bag across the interior to land in the passenger seat. Tipping around, Ransom set his hands on his car door and sardonically declared, “Well, now you’ve checked on me. And I’m leaving, so get the hell off my property.”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” Richard barked. Ransom rolled his eyes at his father’s bluster. 

“I can talk to you however I want. I’m not a kid you can parade around like a honey trap for single moms anymore.” It’s what most of his childhood had consisted of any time his dad would take him for ‘quality time’. Fathering had never been a part of the gig. 

It was really an excuse to bring him to the park and use it as a means to flirt with any unsuspecting mothers standing around, until Ransom would push some kid into the dirt and pick a fight to win the attention back. His dad always managed to twist it, endear a woman to how hard raising a boy like him was, but how he wouldn’t trade it for the world. And just like that, he’d get a new number. And then they’d get back in the car, and Richard wouldn’t say a damn word to him. When they finally got home, Richard left him with the help Linda had hired, a real Old Testament bitch of a nun that saw no place for a dirty child in the biblically clean household she kept. 

She’d always called him Hugh. 

“Your mother told me she wrote you out of her will, too… so I guess you’re in my boat now,” Richard tried.

“Not really.”

“So Marta’s treating you well, then?”

“None of your business.”

“Come on, Ransom! I’m tryna… throw an olive branch here,” his father whined, causing Ransom to scoff. His brows flickered incredulously.

“You know… when you all thought I was the only one getting cut out of Harlan’s will, you told me maybe it’d make me grow up,” Ransom reminded, leaning more heavily against his open car door. Holding a finger up from where the rest were curled against the steel, he added, “Which I find to be hilarious when you never spent a day acting like my father. So don’t start now. Matter of fact, why don’t you take your own advice and grow up. Or take Walt’s and sell your Ferrari instead of panhandling to me. Just figure it the fuck out, and get off my property before I call the cops.” 

He bowed and slipped into his car then, shutting the door on his father. He revved the engine when Richard tried shouting at him, and peeled the car back fast enough to spit gravel up at the bastard of a man.

~*~

Ransom made one more call that day, which gave him one more place to go after he’d dropped both summons letters off at his lawyer’s office. He huffed at the insanity of this gambit, but he strode into the park with confident steps and looked around. It was a strangely warm day for January, and most of the snow had melted as a result, leaving everything soggy and dirty. He kept to the cemented pathways, but his lip still curled at the damp ground that soaked into the bottom of his worn loafers.

Benoit caught his disgruntlement as he neared the iron park table he sat at and chuckled. “Not your scene, Mister Drysdale?”

“Out in the cold with these crazy kooks?” Ransom drawled, looking around them, where only old men in thick coats and paperboy hats dared sit to play their routine chess games. Brows lifting behind his sunglasses, Ransom shook his head. He didn’t bother answering further as he slipped into the empty seat across from Benoit. All the old southern gent was missing was the hat, but he looked right at ease, leaned back in his chair and chuckling.

“I thought a nice open space might suit our meeting a little better. And who doesn’t like a friendly game of chess?” Benoit drawled. Ransom rolled his eyes and looked around once more. Benoit watched him, eyes narrowed contemplatively. He waited until Ransom’s attention finally drifted back to him, before he picked up the white knight stationed before him and moved it out on the board. “Now why did you call me?” 

“I want to hire you again,” Ransom said plainly, plucking up a black pawn and setting it out to tempt the knight closer. Benoit didn’t take the bait, setting one of his own pawns out two spaces. 

“For what purpose?” he asked, and Ransom schooled his attention onto the game to avoid rolling his eyes at that obnoxious southern drawl.

“To save Marta ‘nd me from a lawsuit.”

“Ah, yes. I heard about that,” Benoit mused, lips pursing. He took a moment to focus on the board. Their pawns were now scattered in various positions, and he hesitated a moment before he claimed one of Ransom’s bishops with his knight. Ransom took the knight out with his queen. “I also heard you accompanied Marta to Colombia.” Benoit moved his rook out, forcing Ransom’s queen to retreat for the moment.

“Still on that, are you?” Ransom groused, his vivid eyes narrowing imperceptibly behind his sunglasses.

“I am nothing but a servant to the truth, Mister Drysdale, and the truth is… I don’t trust your intentions with Miss Cabrera.” Benoit took Ransom’s other bishop with his rook.

“Trust them or not, it doesn’t matter,” Ransom muttered, snagging the offending rook with one of his black knights. “Your criminal case failed, and my family will do whatever they need to, to make this civil case fly. We’ve given them enough to try and twist our coffins together… so if I go down, she goes down, and vice versa.” Benoit took Ransom’s knight with one of his own bishops, which Ransom immediately answered by taking the bishop with his queen.

“And what do you propose I do to help you?” Benoit asked, finally moving his own queen into play to protect his king. Ransom shrugged, and moved a pawn forward to put pressure on the dwindling line of defense.

“Find dirt on them we can use to stave them off. Go up on the stand and say you lied about the whole ordeal with me. I really don’t care. You’re the fucking PI, figure it out.” Benoit’s pawn took his own, and Ransom moved his rook in to take the pawn. “Check,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair to stare at Benoit as he considered his next move, which was to move his king up behind his queen, putting him in place to take the rook. Ransom ignored it for the moment to explain, “And since you got paid last time to throw me in jail, you’ll do this one pro-bono.” 

“That right?” Ransom nodded to the skeptical rebuttal. He moved his last knight in position, sacrificing it for a quick Check that offered him a gambit for Benoit’s queen. He moved his in slowly, switching the white queen for his black one with deft fingers.

“Check Mate,” he declared, curling his fingers around the white queen. He gave Benoit a moment to study the board and process his loss, his subtle smirk no less arrogant than usual. “We both know you care about protecting Marta more than money. It’s why you’re here on your free time, harassing me,” he pointed out while lifting from his chair. He paused there to tell Benoit, “Believe it or not, I’m trying to do the same thing, so help me bat the vultures off.” He tossed the white queen across the table for Benoit to catch. 

Benoit twisted it over in his hand and studied the piece for a long moment, before he looked up at Ransom and agreed, “I’ll take a look… see what I can find.” Ransom nodded, but before he could turn away, Benoit warned, “But to be clear, Mister Drysdale? This doesn’t mean you’re off my list of suspect characters. I _will_ find whatever you’re hiding.” Ransom rolled his eyes behind his sunglass and twisted around to leave without another word. 

~*~

He beat Marta home, which was both relieving and surprising. The relief lasted a whole of ten seconds before the matter disgruntled him. Frowning, he let the dogs out and started making some food before he checked his phone, where he’d linked Marta’s phone’s GPS signal to. Trust or not, he wasn’t letting her wander off without at least a _few_ precautions. She was just south of Boston, likely on her way back to the mansion, so he pocketed his phone and finished making his late lunch.

He’d packed the leftovers away and let the dogs back in by the time Marta finally returned. He approached the door, prepared to ask after her, when she flung herself at him. Brows lifting, he just managed to bring his arms up and catch her. An exhilarated puff left her as she clung to him for a moment, and once she flopped back to her feet, the twinkle in her dark eyes took Ransom completely aback. He’d never had anyone look so damn happy and excited to see him (let alone after such a relatively small amount of time), and he… didn’t know what the fuck to do with that. 

Unsurprisingly, Marta noticed. “Is everything alright?” she asked, concern etched into her expression. He searched her face for a moment, before he brushed his fingers through her ebony hair and tucked it behind her ear.

“Fine for now,” he murmured. Dropping his hand, he looked into her eyes and said, “You were gone awhile.” Marta perked up, her back going strangely erect as a blush started blooming across her cheeks.

“Yes, after our appointment, I took Mama out for lunch. And then, uh – a-after I dropped her off, I stopped somewhere else,” she explained, bowing her head from him to focus on the bag she brought up between them. She handed it off to Ransom, and let him open the unsuspecting black paper to reach in for what she’d purchased. He brought the slender rectangular box up toward his face and blinked, stupefied for a good ten seconds as he considered the bright pink silicon contained within.

Little miss angel had bought a goddamn vibrator.

“You asked before if I’ve used one. The answer is yes, but no… I don’t have one currently. Or didn’t,” Marta explained, drawing Ransom’s gaze back to hers. Her flush darkened, and she started stuttering again, “Y-you said, um. That you’ve helped before, so I thought maybe we could…”

“Wow.” Ransom blinked again as he considered the compact device, a good few inches and with a couple of grooves to ensure she _really_ felt each vibration. He laughed, unable to help himself. Marta nearly shifted nervously until she caught the twinkle in his dilating eyes, and his voice dropped a couple octaves when he growled, “You little freak.” Her expression brightened again, her delight over her surprise being so well received obvious. 

Her expression turned a little more daring next as she tipped her chin toward her shoulder a little flirtatiously. “I’m merely calling your bluff,” she teased in response. Ransom’s brows lifted.

“A bluff, was it?” he countered. She shrugged one shoulder innocently.

“Prove it wasn’t,” she dared, the challenge almost entirely masking how – in a very _good-natured_ way – this was a reward for letting her go somewhere alone. He’d trusted her, and she wanted to prove it could benefit them both - in the same unconventional way that seemed to be working since the beginning. And while he may not have fully realized her ploy, he watched her run up the stairs, a rather devilish look tossed over her shoulder at him, and realized, _Christ, I’m in trouble._

Marta was nothing like he’d expected, like no one he’d ever met or would ever meet again. She was ‘the whole package’, if he’d ever seen one, and he suddenly had to wonder…

Had Harlan known? Was that why he’d told Ransom everything that night at his birthday party, and made a point to talk about her affinity for Go? Ransom glanced elsewhere, toward where he knew that ostentatious self-portrait of his grandfather hung, and the first truly powerful pang of remorse struck him. His anger had festered over the immediate insult that night, and he’d acted impulsively without ever considering the greater implications – for better or worse. He’d just wanted to beat his grandfather one last time, cheaply and completely.

_Wouldn’t that just be a kick in the teeth, if I were still playing right into his endgame anyway._

He shook his head of the crazy thoughts and ran from the nagging ache in his chest - from his past mistakes and tragedies - up the squeaky stairs and toward his present. To Marta, and the salvation her open arms offered his black soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple disclaimers for this chapter: 1) I know a decent amount about the US criminal justice system, but I'm definitely making shit up as I go as well, so if anything seems off that's why. 2) I also know the basic rules of chess, but I was too lazy to look up a proper game so I made up my own to suit the scene/symbolism I wanted xD
> 
> Reviews give me life, and while I try to respond to most, I just want you to know even if I don't always make a comment back, I seriously appreciate each and every thought you share <3 I also appreciate you silent watchers, so thanks to everyone keeping track of this story. Ya'll make it worth way more.


	25. Pleasure and Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the midst of their surprisingly sweet domesticity, Marta and Ransom deal with a few publishing empire needs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lonely Eyes by Lauv is giving me Marta/Ransom feels right now if anyone's interested.

Marta groaned and stretched her achy limbs beneath the sheets. Ransom had done a number on her, which left her weary and limp as they laid together in bed through the next morning. He huffed as she clung to his side, head pillowed to his chest, eyes closed, and one arm draped over his stomach. His blue eyes flickered over her face, and he brushed his fingers through stray locks falling over her to tuck them behind her ear. She hummed appreciatively and snuggled a little closer, and his heart just about leapt into his throat.

He’d been giving Marta a lot of firsts, sure. First time rolling, getting tied up, eaten out on the phone… but she was giving him a lot of firsts in return. Cuddling, for one. He couldn’t remember ever being so content lying next to someone. He actively avoided it, truth be told; women got clingy once a man stayed after sex, or so his entire life had lead him to believe. His own fluttery, swelling emotions were another first, but he didn’t know what to do with any of that still. And he found himself… considering things he never had before.

Ransom lived in a strange state between living from moment to moment and plotting his every interaction out the same way he did Go, or Chess. Now, he found himself wondering… What if?

What if he just let this be? What if he let it take him somewhere new?

_What if? What if? What if?_

Marta perked up finally, her beautiful brown eyes searching his face for a moment. A smile slowly spread across her plump lips. “Tell me something about yourself,” she requested, jostling her fists against him excitably. He huffed in amusement and quirked a brow.

“Like what?” He searched her twinkling eyes as she rested her chin against his chest. Still smiling, she merely shrugged and left it up to him. Scoffing, he eyed her serene expression for another moment before he drawled, “I thought you already knew everything worth knowing about me.”

“I was wrong.” Surprised by the admittance, Ransom tipped his head along to pillow to peer at her more intently.

“Say that again,” he said. She laughed at him and rolled her eyes.

“I was wrong, Ransom,” she repeated, amused more than anything. She could see how stumped he was, so she just patiently traced her nails along his skin while he processed. He’d never heard anyone concede to a fault or error so easily, and Marta did it without shame or agitation. He blinked, marveling at that for a moment before he huffed again. 

Smoothing his hand up her arm, he asked again, “What do you want to know?”

“I dunno. What’s your favorite memory?”

“First time I fucked you.” Ransom smirked impishly, his pride only swelling when Marta blushed adorably. She rolled her eyes and tried to laugh it off.

“Seriously.”

“And what if I am being serious?” At Ransom’s insistence, Marta blushed worse. He hadn’t been kidding about knowing how to win her over, but she still had a healthy bit of skepticism when he _really_ put on the charm… no matter _how much_ it made her want to swoon. 

Maybe she ought to embrace it.

“You ever think about me?” she asked next, gaze returning to his vivid blue eyes. “Before this. You know, in _that_ way.” She nudged her hips against him to cap the question off, which had Ransom chuckling.

“Self-service, huh?” he teased, tickling his fingers up her hip. She giggled a little, but rocked atop him a little more wholly to keep his attention enraptured. Tucking his arm behind his head, he held her gaze and admitted, “Yeah. Maybe once or twice. I thought you looked hot at the Fourth of July party last year. Before you yacked, anyway.” He let Marta soak that up for a moment before he bumped his knee beneath her a little. “What about you?”

“I’m pretty sure you know the answer to that.”

“Humor me.”

“Yes. When I first saw you, I thought you were very handsome,” Marta admitted, a blush re-blooming onto her cheeks. “And last Christmas, when I saw you help Greatnana Wanetta get to her seat.”

“I… didn’t know anyone saw that,” Ransom admitted, quieted. He was careful with the affection he showed, at least usually. Outside of his grandfather, the old bat Wanetta was the only one who could drum something out of him as far as his family went. He was the only great grandkid she really remembered, and she’d always been kind to him when he was younger and she was more present. He kept his soft spot hidden from the rest of his family for the most part, but apparently Marta had noticed.

“It seems you really did only notice me once or twice,” she teased, quirking a slender brow at him. It wasn’t surprising. The Thrombeys often overlooked her, unless they had some purpose for noticing her. Tapping his chest a few more times with her nails, Marta asked next, “What’s your favorite movie?”

“Easy. _Lucky Number Slevin._ ”

“What’s that?”

“You’ve never seen-?!” Ransom nearly lurched up from the bed, but he stilled to gawk at Marta while she shook her head. Huffing, his head flopped back to the pillow, both his hands gripped to her biceps in disbelief. “Alright. We’re watching that asap.” She chuckled a little, her head tipping against its perch on his chest while she regarded him fondly. Lifting his head again, he looked at her and quipped, “Let me guess. Your favorite movie is _Little House on the Prairie_ or something boring like that.”

“No, although there’s nothing wrong with that,” she defended, eyes narrowing on him. He smirked at her faux irritability, which she promptly ignored to answer, “I like _Pan’s Labyrinth_.” He stared at her blankly for an elongated moment, which had her huffing again. “You don’t know what that is.”

“Guilty.” 

“We’ll have to trade,” she mused, referring to the movies. Smoothing her fingers along his ribs, she tipped forward and pressed her lips to his chest. She peppered his smooth skin with a few slow kisses before another question popped to mind. “Have you ever traveled anywhere?”

“Yeah. Been a bunch of places. Vegas, Cancun, Bangkok, Amsterdam, couple different island resorts you’ve probably never heard of,” he trailed off as his hand caught through her untamed locks again, pushing them away from where they’d fallen to tickle against his ribs. Once he’d tucked as much as he could behind her ear, he added with humorous finality, “Canada.” Marta chuckled a little and tipped her head into the stroke of his fingers with a hum. It had her hair spilling over his arm again, but she didn’t mind.

“I think I’d like to travel. I never have, only from Florida to here when I was ten.”

“You were born here?” Ransom asked, finally confirming a curiosity he’d had for awhile. Her accent indicated one thing, but her mother’s unique status compared to her children suggested another.

“Mm,” Marta hummed, nodding as she explained, “shortly after Mama made it here. We stayed with a friend of hers for years down in Miami, but after Alice was born… the neighborhood was too much.” She didn’t really want to elaborate, and for once Ransom didn’t push her. He watched her stare into space for several moments before she took a breath, and pushed onto her elbows. His eyes unceremoniously leered lower to where her perfect, supple tits became shapely over his abdomen. His dilating blue eyes returned to her solemn expression as she added, “But she’ll be a citizen soon – Ms. Keller said maybe a few months, and then she won’t have to worry anymore. So…”

“So you’ll have some freedom?” he finished for her. She glanced toward him, but those pretty brown eyes darted away quickly. He knew why. Both of them were starting to lose sight of the boundaries here, and he was as unsure of if he wanted her to go anywhere new as she was if he’d let her. The question hung over them both heavily if he were even a part of the equation, so he tested the waters carefully. “Where would you want to go first?”

She perked up further, causing her nipples to tease over his stomach. He felt them start to bud in response, and slowly became more aware of how her legs were draped over his own, warming him. He ignored the twitch in his loins as Marta awkwardly admitted, “I… don’t know.” Ransom hummed thoughtfully, his gaze drifting toward where his hand had moved, cupping the lower curve of her rear so he could smooth his palm up the length of her and admire her sensual figure.

“We should go somewhere tropical… so I can see you in a super skimpy bikini,” he murmured, picturing her in something he _knew_ she’d never wear. She laughed though, and nudged her fingers into his ribs for his objectification. He cracked a smile, and it lingered when his fingers caressed over a rather sensitive patch of flesh along her side and caused her to gasp. Goose bumps prickled to life along her skin, and after another gentle brush of his hands along her back, she collapsed atop him again, limp and content. The chuckle that rumbled from him was the only thing that had her moving from his spell. 

“You, uh, alright there, Princess?”

“I’m not a princess,” Marta protested, her words half-muffled against his chest. She groaned a moment later as his fingers tickled up her spine. He snorted.

“I think you’re finally getting used to the good life, Beautiful.”

“The sex helps,” Marta hummed, earning another chuckle from Ransom.

“Oh yeah?” His fingers curled around her more intently. His massive biceps flexed to hoist her further up his torso, and he used his knee to ensure her legs stayed parted enough to straddle him properly. Her fingers wound over his shoulders, before he cupped the back of her head and pulled her into a fervent kiss. His other hand slipped between them to grip one of her supple breasts that immediately had Marta groaning. Her bruised lips weren’t the only parts of her that ached.

“Ransom,” she whimpered, one hand reaching up to graze his chin and pause him. “I don’t think I can again.” Between the vibrator and his cock, he’d left her groin tense and burning, and her core aching beautifully. After such a long night, she just needed a brief reprieve. The wolfish grin that split Ransom’s lips was nothing shy of divine, and he chortled briefly as he cupped both hands around her jaw and drew her back into another heated kiss.

“You sure know how to stroke my ego,” he murmured once he finally released her. She smirked, her reddened lips a little swollen and beautifully mesmerizing. His heart did its newfound little flutter, and he wrapped his arms around her back so he could roll them together across the bed. Marta yipped, and then started to laugh when he nearly tipped them off the edge, the sound musical enough to soften his smile. He adjusted his arms around her while his feet swung off the bed, and before she fully got her bearings, he had her scooped up in his bulky arms bridal style.

“What are you doing?” she asked, brows lifting and eyes twinkling with intrigue. He quirked a brow at her, a lopsided, secretive smile still gracing his face. She huffed and narrowed her eyes peculiarly, but looped her arms around his neck and enjoyed the ride. His strong arms made her feel spectacularly petite and weightless, and some primitive part left of her being felt thrilled by it. He carried her down the hall and into the bathroom he’d primarily used in those first couple weeks.

Setting her down to her own feet carefully, he moved to take a seat on the edge of the porcelain tub. He plugged the stopper for the tub in, before turning the faucet on and letting his fingers rest under the water for a temperature check. Marta still didn’t know what he was doing, too distracted by his body to care. Ransom was a work of art, every muscle perfectly curved and cut. Even his legs had sinewy, compact muscles that made the mouth water. She had an impulse to wrap her fingers around his dick and stroke it to life, and if she weren’t so sore already, she likely would’ve.

He lifted from his seat once he was satisfied with the water temperature, and bowed to the cabinet underneath the sink. Her head tipped, finally curious over what he was doing until he pulled out a bubble bath mixture. Marta’s heart skipped a beat as she watched him pour the purple, lavender-scented mixture into the rushing water. Bubbly foam started to bloom up with the rising bath. Once he’d squeezed a generous amount in, he turned toward Marta and handed the bottle off.

“Add more if you want,” he encouraged, brushing his fingers through the side of her hair again. They circled around to the back of her neck so he could pull her a little closer. “Might help with the soreness, hm?” he teased, his grin self-satisfied. She couldn’t hope to answer, but he tipped forward to kiss her forehead before he announced, “I’m gonna go make lunch. You relax till then.” He left, and her heart twisted affectionately in his wake, a subtle flurry of butterflies churning her stomach and her cheeks heated.

It felt impossible not to fall in love with him a little more each day, the more he showed her this soft, thoughtful caretaker. Valiantly as she fought to keep them for protection, she found her doubts ebbing away. He couldn’t be _that_ good at faking such affections, could he? She didn’t know much about psychopaths, but this level of intimacy, how close and comfortable she felt to him at times… it _couldn’t_ be one-sided.

Could it?

While Marta sunk into her bath and let out a delighted groan as the heat sunk into her muscles, Ransom slipped on a pair of loose sweats and headed downstairs. When he reached the kitchen, he rummaged around the fridge for inspiration on what to make for lunch. Fried rice felt simple, but hearty enough to suffice, so he pulled out a couple eggs and some vegetables and set them out on the counter. He bowed to the cupboards to pull out a pot and the bag of rice, and started to boil them before he cut up the peppers and carrots he’d found in the fridge.

Once he finished cutting the vegetables, he paused to check his and Marta’s phones. A missed call from Alan piqued his curiosity, so after checking the timer on the rice, he headed upstairs. Marta was half asleep in her bath, the bubbles diminishing from the suds they’d once been. He smiled softly at how sweet and sleepy she looked, until her eyes blinked open and stared at him expectantly.

“You have a missed call from Alan,” he explained, holding her phone up.

“Oh.” She blinked, and looked from her phone up to Ransom’s piercing stare. “Do you want to call him back?” Ransom nodded and hit the redial button, before he switched the phone to speaker mode so they both could hear.

“Hello. Miss Cabrera?”

“Yes. Hello Mister Stevens,” Marta called. A smile quirked Ransom’s lip at how adorable he found her lilt.

“Thanks for calling me back,” he said gruffly, and got right to business. “My office has been going through Blood Like Wine’s financial report for the last year, given the ownership change. We’ve found a few discrepancies we wanted to make you aware of.”

“Discrepancies?”

“Put simply, the numbers don’t match up. We checked three times, and each time came to the conclusion that the books report three million less than what the company should have grossed in profit, after taxes and employee salaries were all paid out from the total book sales.”

“Where did the money go?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Alan admitted, while Ransom mouthed the name _Walt_. Marta pouted at him, but Alan confirmed the possibility when he said, “The total missing for the year is three million, most of which went missing in quarter million chunks over the last six months of the year.” He paused, reluctant to admit the obvious despite not having any lingering loyalty to his former employers. “We’re likely looking at a case of embezzlement, but I’ll let you know for sure when my team finishes our report. We’ll have it sent to you first thing, along with our legal recommendations.”

“Thank you, Mister Stevens. I appreciate the notice,” Marta murmured. Ransom hung up, and their gazes locked. “You think it was Walt?”

“Who else _could_ and cover up the evidence for so long?” He chuckled derisively. “That sanctimonious piece of shit.” He shook his head, every ounce of ire he felt for his uncle coming to the forefront learning this truth. _Gives me shit for not having a job, gloats about me having to sell my shit, and he’s been stealing from Harlan for a year._ His eyes narrowed, the wheels in his head cranking into gear.

“What are you thinking?” Marta asked, recognizing the intent look for what it was. He didn’t answer at first, too busy wondering after Walt’s recent leg injury. He’d said it was a biking injury, which Ransom had _never_ believed, but he hadn’t cared about what Walt wanted to hide. Until now.

“I’m thinking it makes sense why he’s still harassing you. He’s got three million reasons to want to get under your skin,” Ransom murmured, returning his gaze to Marta. She had her arms folded against the edge of the tub, her chin resting atop her forearm while she peered up at him. Her plump lips were pulled into a subtle frown. Her dark eyes flickered lower, to where his gray sweats obscured his legs. She reached out with one hand and pinched her fingers around the edge of the fabric and tugged. His brows furrowed until she tugged again, and managed to slip the waistband down his hip.

“Hey, get outta here,” he lightly scolded, tugging his leg back and out of her grasp. She giggled to herself, earning a huff and a headshake from him. “Lunch’ll be ready in like… ten? Fifteen, maybe.” She nodded, so he left to finish whipping up their meal. 

~*~

After they ate, Marta received another call that had them heading to the publishing house. They trailed into the office together with Marta awkwardly waving to the staff until they’d trudged up the stairs into her office. It didn’t look any cleaner than the last time they’d been there, which had Marta huffing in abashment. “I should… probably go through all of this,” she muttered, though as she looked around at the stacks of papers and further unidentified clutter, she grew overwhelmed.

The only clean space on the desk was now filled with a stack of mail, which she rifled through the same way she did the last time she was here. More bills, a new manuscript that had passed the barrier of the first floor checks, and a new envelope from Mr. Lamberty.

“Ah, guess he came to his senses,” Ransom drawled, amused until Marta handed the item off to him. He accepted it, and while he flipped through the new contract, she took a peek at the manuscript that had been left for her. She read the book agent’s brief summary, and the first page of the potential mystery novel by the time Ransom spoke, “It’s better. He’s left a few blanks for us to fill in our demands with. Namely, who you’ll be assigning as an advisor to any projects, and the percent cut between them and the publishing company. Well… _me_.” Ransom offered her a Cheshire grin once he corrected himself.

She rolled her eyes at him, but glanced out the office’s window to look down on the staff. She didn’t really know any of them well, and didn’t know how to go about doing that now. Frowning pensively, she suddenly asked, “What about Trooper Wagner?”

“The _cop_?”

“Yeah. He knew everything about Harlan’s stories.”

“But he’s a cop,” Ransom reiterated, and in a tone that suggested she’d lost her mind. Turning away from the window, she glanced back at him.

“So?” Her head tilted speculatively, a challenge glinting in her brown eyes. “You don’t believe people should have new beginnings if they want it?” The rhetorical, weighted question hung between them, and Ransom’s eyes narrowed on her. 

Scoffing, he muttered, “Do what you want, but at least explore your options. You know enough about his stories now, don’t you? Quiz some people, see who seems to understand his stories the best.” Surprised by the advice (and the genuine plausibility of it), Marta paused to mull it over. She approached the desk slowly, her gaze trailing toward the new manuscript, and the one Walt had been forced to abandon when he was fired. Her fingers touched to the pages. 

“I suppose I should read these,” she murmured, though uncertainty surrounding this new responsibility weighed down on her. “I don’t know anything about editing a book.” Ransom glanced toward her.

“You don’t have to. You can have one of the editors do that,” he pointed out. She met his gaze, and her lingering apprehension had him sighing and explaining, “Mostly, you just have to decide if the book is good enough to publish here. Harlan only ever really published his own books… so just think about if these new books or authors honor his voice, or whatever.” Again, Marta found herself impressed by the merit of his opinion, and further curious about why he suddenly seemed so disgruntled by it.

_Complicated man._

“Maybe I should make you _my_ advisor,” she mused, just to see how he’d react. He scoffed out an incredulous chuckle.

“Yeah right. You got a boss/assistant kink, too?” he deflected with his usual crass humor. He perked up when the joke settled in, and looked at her with a renewed twinkle in his bright blue eyes. Setting the contract down, he moved toward her and crowded her against the edge of the desk. Her rear tipped back against the edge while his fingers lightly touched to the wood on either side of her. “You wanna test it out right now?” he purred huskily, causing Marta to blanch.

“Ransom!” He chortled and moved his hands to her hips.

“You do like calling me your bitch boy, so is this what you really want?” he goaded, massaging his hands up her jeans and beneath her wool sweater. Marta’s breathing grew labored as his fingers tickled up her flesh and he growled an alluring picture in her ear, “Me to bring you your coffee and schedule, ask ‘is there anything else I can do to service you, Mistress?’” She shuddered a little, and felt his hardened cock press against her thigh through his trousers.

Swallowing down her lust, she croaked back, “Is that what _you_ want?” He hummed against her ear, and brushed his nose along her cheek as he drew back to look down at her flushing expression, her dark eyes wild and beautifully curious. He smirked.

“I’m open to trying new things,” he murmured, marveling at the way her breath hitched once his palms brushed atop her voluptuous breasts. Her back arched, subconsciously pressing her lace-covered flesh into his hands. His fingers gently curled around the soft tissue while he spoke against her lips, “Can’t say I hate it when you get feisty.” He shifted, grinding his pelvis against her center. A ragged groan escaped her, which she tried to muffle by tipping her head against his shoulder. When she breathed in, all she could smell was his smoky, delectable scent.

Whatever wits she had left had to wonder the obvious when it came to Ransom. “Are you playing a game with me?” He chuckled, clearly entertained.

“What game are we playing?” His fingers trailed back down her sides, eliciting goose bumps in their wake. Her back arched again, inadvertently grinding her hips against his, which made answering… difficult. 

With a panting breath, she quoted in another mock of his accent, “Make Marta kinky as possible.” A smile actually crept onto her face when he laughed again.

“Hey, don’t blame me. You’re the one who asked to watch me masturbate first,” he retorted, his fingers finally having reached the button of her jeans. He thumbed it daringly, and Marta finally felt her heart flutter with alarm. Twisting her head, she glanced toward the office door, which was still wide open. Ransom followed her gaze and smirked a little as he threatened to loose the button. “Can you keep quiet?”

“No,” Marta murmured, turning back to face him. Her brow quirked as she added, “And I’m still sore,” before she pushed him with her hands at his hips. She immediately nudged him with one of her knees just to make sure he retreated. “Maybe next time, _Beast_ ,” she chided while lifting up from the desk. His eyes glinted mirthfully, a charming, devious smile gracing his face, but she kept her glare steadfast. A moment later, a mischievous smile of her own grew as she grabbed the manuscripts, stacking one atop the other, and pushed them at his chest.

His brows lifted in surprise as she smirked at him and bat her eyelashes innocently. He snorted, his expression flattening for half a beat, before he groused, “You’re lucky you’re cute.” _So easy to fluster her,_ Ransom thought, self-satisfied by the way she blushed and averted her eyes. Her swiped his pointer finger against the rosy hue affectionately, before he secured the paperwork and grabbed the contract to set on top. With everything tucked under one of his bulky arms, he held his hand out and teased, “After you, _Mistress_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact time again! Did you know Walt's foot is in a cast? I didn't, until I watched the deleted footage from the DVD extras. I thought he just had a bad hip or old injury he was compensating for or something, not a new injury. Did you also know Walt was stealing from the publishing company? I didn't, until I watched the deleted footage from the DVD extras lmao.
> 
> There is SO MUCH plot that was removed in like 4 minutes of footage, and I'm kind of glad they took it out because ALL of it makes Ransom so much weaker as the chosen villain. To be a complete hypocrite after what I just said though.... yes, I am taking the revealed plot that was cut out and running with it lmfao. If you haven't seen the footage, I'm not going to spoil anything else because you'll see what it sparked in my mind anyway. If you have, or want to see it, by all means and feel free to share your thoughts/guesses about what I might do xD


	26. Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My plot lines start to come together or something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiii. I'm so sorry this took so long to update! This has by far been one of the trickiest chapters to write, and to make matters worse these two crazy hornballs tried to sneak some smut into this chapter. Over 2k later I realized it was just too much lmao, so I'm breaking up the chapter to post part of it quicker and give me some more time to work on the... ahem, climax. Sorry for the teaser, but at least I can get in a quicker update after this hopefully? Pls don't hate me T_T
> 
> Even so, I hope this chapter was worth the wait! Please let me know what you think. Your thoughts/feedback mean the world to me <3 Thanks so much!
> 
> P.S. I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy out there. All my well wishes go out to you lovely readers!

They sent the contract back to Mr. Lamberty with Marta’s requests filled in the blank lines. She’d chosen one of the publishing house’s book agents to oversee any film projects, and decided on a 60/40 split between their cut and Ransom’s. He didn’t complain since he knew a 40% cut would be more than enough to sustain his lifestyle, indefinitely so long as the projects kept going.

At first, he’d been positively gleeful over the sealed Netflix deal. Not just because of the secured cash flow he’d have for barely lifting a finger, but because it was one more thing he’d bested his family on. Rubbing it in Walt’s face that they’d gone through with a deal he’d begged his daddy to let him do for ages felt like just fucking desserts.

Until Ransom thought about it a little more.

The embezzlement, the injury, Walt’s stalking, Jacob’s bombing… the puzzle pieces laid sharp in his mind, but he couldn’t see the clear picture yet. It irked him enough that the itch to sate his curiosity became impossible not to scratch. Marta wanted to go to lunch with her mother and sister, so Ransom wished her well and kissed her goodbye, so he could do what he needed to.

He drove to his uncle’s house, and tipped his head to look through the beamer’s windshield more intently. Despite how much they all hated each other, the Thrombeys knew a great deal about one another. What they did, where they went, who they knew. Every detail was leverage, a potential weapon to use in an argument or manipulation.

Midday, Jacob was at school, Donna would be at her _Real Housewives of Boston_ party group, where she went most mornings during the week. And Walt… well, Ransom’d bet his beamer his uncle had taken up residence at a bar since losing his job.

He parked his car across the street, on the corner of an adjacent road. Despite how far the other houses sat in the rich borough, he still glanced around the street as he approached the home. It was an ugly dark brown thing, a typical McMansion that should’ve been homey and wasn’t thanks to the people who dwelled within. He spotted the camera poised at the front door, newly installed from the pristine look of it. He eyed it as he walked up to the front door and helped himself to the spare key he knew Donna hid within a broken nook of one of the porch’s fence posts.

Was it still breaking and entering with a key? He’d argue not, but he still helped himself to his uncle’s laptop when he got upstairs to their bedroom. Password protection meant little when Walt was the most predictable person in the world. _Reddime_ worked on the first try, and because Walt couldn’t remember anything else, he had the rest of his passwords saved on his device. 

Smirking, Ransom let his gloved fingers fly over the keys, checking the security camera footage (and deleting the few seconds that showed his entrance), scanning through emails and recent browser history, and checking his uncle’s recent bank account transactions. Sure, he’d asked Benoit to find out what he could to save them from the civil law suit, but he trusted Benoit about as much as Benoit trusted him. The only leverage he had on Benoit to keep him on his side was Marta, but that angle was hardly the only play Ransom was going to make. 

Nothing truly interesting came of the old computer, so he moved on. He rifled through his uncle’s things, scanning through bits of mail until he found a few past due notices for bills. Curious, he lingered on them for a moment, and ultimately took a few photos of the notices. He hadn’t seen their withdrawal amounts from Walt’s bank account, so he knew the recent ones likely still had to be outstanding. Money was clearly tight, and Ransom wanted to find out why.

He found another piece of the puzzle wedged between two old encyclopedias on a bookshelf in the corner of the room. Head tipping curiously, he pinched the gold-painted metal seal together and popped the flap open. His gloved fingers pinched around the edge of thick lamination – an X-ray. He drew it up to the light to help illuminate the picture of a tibia – one of the thick bones in the lower leg. Ransom knew a bit about reading X-rays thanks to his summer interning with Harlan.

Which is how he knew the dark spot he was looking at to the side of the tibia was a bullet hole.

 _Thrombey, Walter_ , the X-ray belonged to, and a devious smile curled onto Ransom’s lips. The creak and clap of a door opening and closing alerted Ransom to the presence of someone. He glanced out the bedroom door, before hastily slipping the X-ray back into its folder. He set it between the thick books, before restoring the laptop back to the state he’d found it. 

Creeping from the room, he stuck to the hallway wall and peered over the railing of the stairs to watch Jacob’s scrawny figure ascending. Ransom moved quietly as he could, slipping into an upstairs study to wait for Jacob to slip by to his own room. He heard the floor creek as Jacob passed by the closed door, and he counted to ten once he didn’t hear movement again to slip out and make a break for downstairs.

“Ransom? What are you doing here?” Damn. Ransom froze, swiveling around to face his cousin standing in his bedroom doorway. 

“I could ask the same of you,” he deflected, stalking closer with each word. “Isn’t it a little early for you to be out of school?” Jacob eyed him, before he pursed his lips and shrugged.

“There was a bomb threat, so we got a half day,” he explained, retreating into his room. Ransom paused in the doorway to watch as Jacob fell into his desk chair, the large, L-shaped structure housing an expensive desktop. Ransom rolled his eyes at the political books and Nazi memorabilia scattered around the messy room. Jacob swiveled toward him, a sort of haughty calmness to him as he twisted his phone between his fingertips. 

“You know, that detective guy came by. Blanc? Or whatever. Asked some questions about you. About what we thought about you and Marta. He was talkin’ to mom and dad, mostly, but… I thought about sharing my piece,” Jacob offered conversationally. Oh, this kid was starting to be more than a thorn in his side. Jacob’s mouth had already helped get him in trouble once. Ransom’s fist clenched. For a second, all he could picture was pushing him through the window and watching him drop the three stories to his death. It’d be so _easy_ , would take nothing more than a flick of his wrist to make his body break irreparably.

But then Jacob glanced down at the phone he still fiddled with and quietly drawled, “I didn’t tell him anything, of course. I wouldn’t know how to explain why I was at the mansion that day either. And dad says we’re gonna sweep you and Marta clean in court anyway, so why bother giving someone else ammo?” His dark eyes lifted to glare at Ransom, a malicious little smirk on his face. He wasn’t buying Ransom’s promises for the family fortune anymore. Ransom smirked back, his sneer more practiced and deadly.

“You better hope so, huh?” he mused, his piercing stare lingering on Jacob until the kid swallowed a little nervously.

“You find what you were looking for?” Jacob prodded next, trying to mask the waver in his voice with the laced question. Ransom just continued to stare, and sure enough Jacob dumbly talked himself up. “I bet if I called the cops, they’d find ‘home invasion’ a great addition to your rap sheet.”

“But I only came here to check on my little cousin, who was sent home for a bomb threat,” Ransom suggested, his head tipping derisively as he goaded, “what, with mommy getting high on Xanax and white wine at the neighbors, and your dad… why, he’s not half-assed out at a bar right now, is he?” Jacob’s face fell, the hatred mounting in his gaze something Ransom knew well. Unlike Ransom, however, he wouldn’t risk his parents’ prestige in such a manner. His jaw cinched, but he shifted in his chair and tipped his chin up arrogantly. 

“Taking you and the spic bitch down together’ll be more fun anyway,” Jacob snapped lowly. Ransom’s fist clenched, the impulse to strike for blood boiling again, but he reluctantly drew away from the room and left his cousin in one piece… for the time being.

~*~

When the doorbell rang, Marta’s brows lifted in surprise. Ransom still wasn’t home, but he would’ve just walked in, which left her hesitantly curious as she approached the mansion’s front door. On the other side stood – “Mister Blanc! What are you doing here?” He cast her a glance, which had her huffing as she amended, “Benoit.” He nodded, pleased.

“I’m here to see Mister Drysdale, actually. May I come in?” 

“Oh.” Her brows shot even higher on her forehead, but she stepped aside so he could enter. She eased the door shut behind him, and faced him a little uncertainly. “He’s not here right now. Uh… what-what did you want to see him about?” 

“Matters surrounding this unseemly lawsuit you’re both facing,” Benoit explained, before he swiveled toward Marta peculiarly. “He didn’t tell you he hired my help?” Taken aback, Marta blinked and ultimately shook her head. She didn’t like his thoughtful hum.

“And what did you find out?” Marta asked quietly, waving her hand in a weak gestured to encourage his focus onto his purpose for being there. The old PI just continued to study her. Finally, he offered a brittle smile and huffed.

“I find myself with a bit of a conflict of interest,” he admitted heavily. “Now, I know we’ve only known each other a short while, but after all you’ve been through… I find myself… protective of you.” Marta smiled at him, fondness warming her expression. “And seeing how Ransom is the prime cause for much of that pain and stress… it seems like a cruel source of irony your fates are now tied together with this lawsuit.” He met her gaze, gleaning for something she wouldn’t yield. He considered the questions he could ask, what might help him get to the source of truth he yearned.

“Did Ransom follow you to Colombia?” he asked first, deciding on the simplest question to poke at the hazy picture he’d been given. He’d spoken with some of the Thrombeys, the cops, Marta’s family. He’d read the tabloids and spoken with the reporters. Everyone seemed to have a shard of the story, but nothing substantial. Everything about the current development of the situation remained murky and puzzling to everyone, and the two at the epicenter seemed determined to keep it that way.

“Ransom found the information I needed to help with my mother’s immigration case. The history, and the circumstances that led to her illegal status,” Marta answered carefully, confirming the lie without addressing it at all. She was still passively amazed at how effective it was in bypassing her condition, but her stomach remained perfectly settled.

“So he knew what you were looking for?” Benoit clarified, to which Marta shook her head. She hadn’t even known she needed to look for anything, obviously, but that wasn’t the detail she focused on either.

“I think he just knew how to win favor with me. And it worked. I mean, I told you… he’s been helping me a lot,” she murmured slowly, reflecting on all the different ways Ransom had been guiding her in this strange new position she found herself in. She smiled absently, which Benoit quietly observed for several moments. 

“Do you really think he’s changed?” Benoit implored, though unlike the last time he’d made a surprise visit, he sounded more curious than confrontational. Marta met his gaze and smiled slightly, appreciating the minor change.

“I didn’t think it’d be possible either, when he first came to me. But now I – I mean look at you. He hired you anonymously before, but he openly asked for your help this time.”

“Hmm, I suppose that’s true,” Benoit admitted reluctantly. He mulled it over for a moment, before he focused on Marta again and pointed out, “It’s just… that day at the fair… you seemed panicked. I don’t think you’ll fault me for being worried about you still.” Marta huffed a little, and shook her head. 

“I don’t- I just got a little disoriented. It had been a stressful month,” Marta admitted vaguely. She couldn’t hope to explain the jumbled emotions she’d had that day, nor did she want to. Benoit hummed his acknowledgment. Before the two could lapse into silence, Marta pointed toward the kitchen and asked, “Would you like some coffee while we wait?” 

“That’d be nice.” She made a pot, and she encouraged Benoit to tell her about what his life had been since Harlan Thrombey’s case was closed. It was nice hearing about the case he’d worked on while Ransom had kept her captive in her own home, how he’d helped the NYPD stumble upon the murderer of a pianist. His tales were always a little disjointed and crazy, but she enjoyed listening.

“I almost called you, you know, to talk about that case. I find our conversations soothing, and a clear mind always leads to the truth,” Benoit rambled absently, surprising Marta. He smiled warmly. “What’s Sherlock without his Watson, ‘ey?” She laughed, because she didn’t know what else to do, until he muttered, “But then I remembered you were out of the country. Didn’t know you were back until I saw that news story.”

Marta hummed and stared into her half-filled coffee mug. “I didn’t know my first time out in Boston with Ransom would cause such mayhem,” she mused, again steering the conversation elsewhere.

“Shouldn’t you have, though? The boy screams theatrics,” Benoit teased, and the two broke out in hearty chuckles.

Ransom returned in the midst of that laugh, which died down the moment he entered the sitting room they’d chosen. Pausing, he looked from one to the other, before he asked as calmly as he could, “What’s this?”

“I came over to speak with you, and me ‘nd Marta got caught up talkin’ in the mean time,” Benoit explained, his hand pointing toward his companion whimsically.

“Oh yeah?” Ransom asked, his sharp gaze flickering toward her. She straightened up, but the silent question in his expression couldn’t be answered for now, so he turned his attention back to Benoit and asked, “What do you need to speak with me about?”

“Your family’s more desperate for that lawsuit than you know. Joni and Walt, anyway. I can’t find much on your mother’s motives for all this-“ Benoit began, only to be cut off by Ransom.

“Simple. She can’t stand not being granddad’s favorite. Marta being given everything is an insult to her pride.” It had been for him as well, but he left that part out. Marta still glanced at him peculiarly.

“Hmm,” Benoit hummed thoughtfully, before his brows flickered in passive curiosity. “Well, she’d also be the money behind this lawsuit as well, seein’ as the rest don’t have, uh – what did Harlan used to say?”

“A red dime?” Ransom supplemented, perking Benoit’s attention.

“Yes! One red dime to their name. Joni’s business has gone bankrupt, and Walt was already in deep with a debt to the wrong person.” He reached into the inside of his coat pocket to pull forth a small stack of folded papers he’d kept in the breast pocket. Thumbing through his old school research of news clippings and public records, he started to explain, “Back when I was investigating the family in November, Donna told me they’d been having money problems for awhile, which led Walt into a sort of gambling spiral.”

“Oh God,” Ransom breathed, chuckling. 

“Hm. Yes. It didn’t go too well for him. To make up the money he lost, he took a couple loans. Now, she wouldn’t tell me with who, but I did some digging. A Larry Cru, I believe is the suspect sugar daddy?” Benoit drawled, his voice hinting upward with his intrigue over the situation. Ransom’s face fell, for he recognized the name. Anyone who knew a shred about Boston’s inner workings – from the money to the crime (because they were always kind of connected, weren’t they?) – knew about Larry Cru. He just couldn’t quite believe his uncle was _that_ dumb. 

“The loan shark?” Ransom guffawed. 

“Hm. One known for collecting interest by any means necessary, I fear,” Benoit confirmed regrettably. Marta looked up at Ransom, her eyes sparked with recognition. 

“That could explain the money Alan found missing from Blood Like Wine’s books,” she pointed out. As more and more pieces clicked into place, Ransom chuckled again.

“I knew his leg didn’t get fucked in a bike accident,” he breathed, shaking his head. He knew because he’d seen the evidence himself now, but Benoit nodded as well. He’d known this since November, when he went to Donna’s door and confronted her about the 3am hospital visit she and Walt had over his leg.

“Hmm, well… I suspect he’s rather desperate for some money right about now. Wouldn’t be surprised if the house went up for sale soon,” Benoit theorized. He stowed his research back in his coat pocket, and looked between Marta and Ransom. Offering a pale smile, he promised, “I’ll keep digging, see if we can find some way to reason with Linda. If we can get to her… no lawsuit.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Ransom scoffed, his body going a little rigid. Marta studied him for a moment, before she looked at Benoit and smiled politely. 

“I’ll walk you out,” she offered, holding her hand out to gesture toward the front door. They walked together in amicable silence, and as she opened the door for him, she said, “Thank you, Benoit.”

“Take care, Marta.” He gave her arm a gentle squeeze before he left. Marta closed the door behind him slowly, and lingered there for several moments while she processed all the day had brought her. She stood there for so long Ransom came into the foyer to check on her. He didn’t say anything, just watched her still figure and wide eyes, waiting for her to come to and explain herself.

“I lied to Benoit,” she seemed to realize, astounded. She turned around slowly to see Ransom’s eyes glinting curiously. 

“What happened?” She told him of the few prodding questions Benoit had asked, and how she’d evaded the truth entirely, but still seemed to appease the PI’s curiosity… at least for the time being. Ransom listened quietly, his head tilting toward the end as he watched Marta’s expression grow a little distressed. He smirked in spite of himself, her borderline flawed sense of righteousness both amusing and adorable. 

“Okay. Well you didn’t lie. You just... rearranged the truth,” he clarified, offering her a cheeky smirk. She pouted at him, until he praised, “You’re getting better at that.”

“Yes, I know… and it feels like I’m learning to lie,” Marta whined, cradling her head as her thoughts threatened to spiral. Ransom hummed and took a step closer to her.

“ _Rearranged the truth,_ ” he pressed, to help ease her conscience. “It’s not _technically_ a lie, which is why you didn’t yack.” His eyes focused on her intently, and she shifted uncomfortably. Like Benoit, Ransom had a way of seeing things she didn’t want him to notice, and he cleverly pointed out, “It’s anxiety induced, isn’t it? The puking. You’re so scared of lying, of the consequences of lying, that you make yourself sick with the anxiety and puke.” She stared at him blankly, amazed and a little taken aback by his assessment. He just continued to smirk and tipped his head playfully while he goaded, “Am I close?”

She couldn’t answer him, which just seemed to confirm the whole thing for him. He chuckled incredulously and asked, “What happened to you?” She couldn’t answer that either, nor did she want to, so he sighed and approached her wholly. He set his hands on either side of her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. “Look. It’s a basic human right to lie, okay? And now you’ve figured out a way to get by, _without_ really lying and impacting that ridiculous conscience of yours.” She pouted at him, which only had him huffing fondly.

"There’s nothing wrong with that, okay? Don’t give yourself the same guilty chains and take that away from yourself,” he pressed. Marta searched his expression, half lost in the mesmerizing blue of his eyes, and felt… a little better, a little more sound. She didn’t know what that said about herself, that she let a pathological liar and murdering psychopath make her feel better about her evasive tactics, but that was another spiral best left out of her mind. Besides, she knew a way to get under his skin as well.

“Okay,” she agreed. He smiled, and tipped forward to kiss her, only for her hand to press against his shoulder hard enough that he paused. “Now that we’ve clarified mine, let’s talk about yours.”

“Mine?”

“Benoit was here to talk to you about ‘our civil court lawsuit’.”

“Yeah?” Ransom tipped his head back, confused for half a beat, until he realized, “Oh.” He schooled his face as Marta glared at him, remembering now that he’d never actually gotten around to telling her their summons had come in. “Well, now that’s technically not a lie either! It’s an omission of truth, and it wasn’t like I was _trying_ to keep it from you. I just-“ well, he was _kind_ of keeping it from her, since he had a method of looking into it he knew she wouldn’t approve of. But he also didn’t want to talk about it until he knew he had a solution, whether he found it, or Benoit or his lawyer did.

“You lied,” Marta stated, deadpan. His lips thinned into a tight line as he glared back at her.

“I was gonna tell you.”

“When? When we have to go to court finally?!” Marta griped, clearly displeased with him. She paused on her own question, however, and asked a more important one, “When is that, by the way?”

“April, I think?” Marta leered at him through her lashes, her adorably pouting bottom lip a little more sternly set. And as much as he wanted to bite that delectable flesh, he also didn’t like how it looked with her displeasure. Growling out a breath, he pressed, “That’s months away! My lawyer has our summons letters and is gonna get the case info for what my family’s trying to pull. I got Benoit working on it to see if we can close this out before court ever even comes up. I’m taking care of it, alright?”

“No. Not alright. I’m over here defending you to people, claiming you’ve changed and are better, protecting _your_ secrets so you don’t go to jail again, and you’re keeping things from me. Still plotting and scheming,” Marta ranted, each breath puffing from her a little more hotly. Ransom laughed, entertained and endeared when he maybe shouldn’t be, especially since it only made the dangerous glint in her eyes intensify.

“Okay, first off. Plotting and scheming? That’s a little dramatic,” he chided her, knowing full and well it was exactly what he was doing. His smile broadened though as he claimed, “Second, you’re sexy when you get all fired up.” His fingers wiggled as he reached out to tickle her sides, only for her to swat his hand away. He laughed again, causing Marta’s cheeks to flush angrily. She whirled around and marched up the steps without another word. Rolling his eyes, Ransom childishly barked, “Oh, come on! Marta!”

She ignored him, knowing full and well he’d pursue her when he didn’t get a reaction. And when he did, she’d teach him a thing or two about the cost of lying.


	27. Lessons in Lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically 4000 words of smut. Enjoy ^.^'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has now reached 200 pages xD Holy hell. Thank you all for reading/reviewing/following this story!

As Marta predicted, the stairs creaked a moment later as he pursued her. Her eyes slanted toward her shoulder, but she didn’t turn around as she headed up for their rooms. The second she reached even floor, she skipped forward, rushing into her room and shutting the door behind her. She hid behind it, so when Ransom barged in, she was behind him, hidden by wood. He looked around for her, but all too quickly she launched herself at his back. Grunting as her arms hooked around his neck, thighs binding around his hips tightly, he stumbled forward from the unexpected weight and reached over his shoulders to try and get a handle on her. 

He teetered toward the bed, and when the mattress was in close range, thrust his weight to the side and bucked Marta off. She yipped, her weightless glide aided by Ransom’s hands, still wrapped around her to keep her from flinging away from him. She landed on her back somehow, half tipped between him and lying horizontally along the bed. He loomed over her, hands searching for greater purchase on her, when she pivoted and brought her feet up. She pushed against his bulky torso, the strength of her legs giving her some leverage to keep him at bay.

“You have to make it up to me,” she breathed, determined. His brows lifted high on his forehead.

“Oh do I?” he snapped, hands clamping down around her wrists.

“Yes. You’re being a very bad assistant,” she grunted out, still keeping his weight off her with the agile bend of her knees. He suddenly realized what she was so awkwardly (and petulantly, he might add – maybe he was rubbing off on her) trying to do. Huffing a little, he looked over her flushed face, and the lusty leer in her eyes. Instead of making fun of her, he tipped his head and quirked his brow curiously. He pulled back, cleverly causing her legs to slip from their holds, and he weaseled his way in between them.

He bowed over her slowly, pressing their hips together in a tortuous, teasing grind while he purred, “And however can I get back into your good graces, Mistress?” 

Marta’s cheeks felt like they were on fire, but she looked Ransom over - admiring his confident smirk and twinkling eyes – and had the abrupt urge to shock him like he so easily did to her. “Get on your knees,” she breathed, the command unmistakable despite how quiet she was. Ransom paused above her, searching her eyes for any sign of mockery. When she continued to stare at him expectantly, he huffed and drew back. He finally shed his large beige overcoat and tossed it toward the desk chair. Uncaring whether it made its mark, he eased onto his knees on the cream-colored rug circling the bed.

Marta sat up, a little amazed he decided to listen. That… had been the point, truth be told. Just as she’d shown her trust by letting Ransom tie her up New Years night, she wanted to test his willingness to trust her, to concede control. He’d made his jokes and shown his interest in exploring this particular scenario, but she hadn’t _really_ believed he’d go for it. Nothing about Hugh Ransom Drysdale screamed ‘submissive’. Yet here he was, kneeling before her.

She blinked stupidly, until he folded his fists together atop his thighs and looked up at her expectantly, a slightly irritable tension to his brow. He wasn’t going to sit there all day, and she almost smiled at the haughtiness, even on his knees. She reached for the hem of her sweater and pulled it up over her head, sparking a bit of intrigue back into his gaze. _Good_. While Marta stripped, she casually explained, “You’re going to tell me all the reasons you think I should forgive you. And if I’m… _satisfied_ by the end of it, I’ll give you a reward.”

She’d stripped down to her lace underwear, a pretty forest green set that brought out the hidden hue in her dark eyes. She paused to look at him, and noticed the slight dilation in his bright gaze. A small smile spread across her lips. Reaching out, she stroked his cheek affectionately, before curling her fingers beneath his chin and lifting his head until their eyes met.

“You don’t get to touch me unless I say. And if you stop talking at any point before I finish…” she trailed off, unsure where the hell she was going with any of this. Lips pressing together, she decided to leave it vague and goad his pride with, “Well… you’re a smart boy. I’m sure you can figure out how disappointing I’d find that.” Ransom’s lips twisted into a thin, disapproving line, but he didn’t say anything. How could he argue when his chest constricted unhappily at the taunt?

“What-“ whatever question he’d been about to ask died on his tongue when Marta scooted herself toward the edge of the bed and slipped her hand beneath the lace barrier of her panties. Jaw falling slack, Ransom’s pupils dilated abruptly and his throat went dry from the sudden shock of want that throbbed through his system. 

“Why should I forgive you?” Marta breathed, her own eyes glinting with lust as she pleasured herself, teasing him with her shrouded show. _Christ_.

“You’ve got a wicked streak in you, don’t you?” he growled at her, muscles coiling with his sudden burst of desire. Her easy smirk only worsened his need, and he found himself groaning stupidly, his blood rushing from one head to the other and making it hard to think clearly. “Fuck, I don’t know! Because I made you money.” Marta almost laughed, thought it came out breathless as she slowly stroked her finger over her own clit. Of course he’d think of money first.

“No. You made _you_ money,” she purred, her hips subtly bucking into her own hand as her massaging fingers picked up a steadier rhythm. Ransom growled, irritated by the lace bobbing before his face. He shifted forward, looking ready to pounce, when Marta reminded, “No touching.” His fists tightened and he grit his teeth together, suddenly annoyed he’d agreed to play along. He scrambled for an answer, and soon found himself rambling everything he could think of.

“I take care of you, in all the ways that matter. I feed you, I _advise_ you on all the bullshit of being rich and famous, I’m keeping my family’s shit off your doorstep as much as possible, but most importantly… I fuck you so good you don’t have _really_ worry about any of it, do you?” Ransom recited, his voice husky with frustration and lust. She wanted him to keep talking until she got off? Fine, he’d show her _why_ while helping her along.

“You forgive me, and I’ll make you feel so fucking good. I’ll make you come as many times as you want, and then some. I’ll rub my tongue over your clit just like you’re doing with your fingers now,” he crooned, a gratifying whimper escaping Marta from the imagery, “maybe suck on it a lil while I pump my fingers in you, nice and slow. And when you’re just on the cusp, I’ll stop, draw the tension out just a _little_ longer before I swirl my tongue over you slow and hard and hot.” 

Marta gasped a little, arching her back while her own fingers dug into her dripping center. He’d brought her to a dizzying high already, but she wasn’t interested in making it easy for him. With hasty fingers, she pushed her panties down to her knees, giving him an open view of just how aroused she was, her slick folds shining at him alluringly. He groaned, his stomach clenching desirously as she slipped her fingers back inside herself. He’d have been content to just watch, but the last of his wits valiantly reminded him she wouldn’t accept his silence.

“God, Beautiful, I’ll fuck you raw, slam into you over and over until you walk funny for a week. And just to be a suck up – since that’s clearly what you want – after I have you writhing under me, legs drenched in our come and muscles burning from what I’ll do to you, maybe I’ll even make you another bath and pamper you. That’s what you want, right? For me to be your good little bitch boy and dote on you, pleasure you with my cock until you’ve had your fill and then treat you like a goddamn queen.” 

A heady breath escaped him as he watched her, his cock straining against his pants at the stung-out expression on her face. Eyes closed, lips parted, fingers strumming rhythmically, faster and faster with each word, against her clit. Her cheeks were beautifully flushed, and every once in awhile she whimpered, either from her touch or his words. He swallowed against a parched throat. He felt… spellbound, enough so that he felt compelled to admit something he never had, and possibly never would again. 

“And you are, you know. My queen. My kinky little mistress, my equal, my opposite, my goddamn retribution,” Ransom growled, his heated breath ghosting over her glazed flesh, sending goose bumps shooting over her every enlightened nerve. Another whimper escaped her as she leered at him through hooded eyes, the intensity of his glare her undoing, always. It had her heart pounding even more wildly than it already was, but she found the unfamiliarity of the situation thrilling. And the intoxicating luminescence of his light eyes only made her want to rile him further. 

Releasing the crooked hold she had on herself, she pushed up into a seat and pressed her drenched fingers against his lips. “Suck,” she demanded, and while Ransom glared at her, her parted his lips and wrapped his tongue around her fingers and suckled her juices from her flesh like he was starved for it. Breathing raggedly, she muttered, “I’ve changed my mind. You’re going to use your wicked tongue for something more useful.” Prying her fingers back, she fisted her other hand into his tousled brown locks and tugged, drawing his face toward her aching folds. He shifted forward eagerly and brought his hands up to brace himself when she yanked back on his hair hard enough that he yipped.

“No! _Only_ your mouth,” she demanded, matching his anger glower with one of her own. “If you can’t get me off like this, you don’t get to fuck me.” The look in his eyes grew dangerous for an entirely different reason at the challenge. With her grip in his hair still, Marta guided him forward again, until his lips were against her velvety flesh. He held her gaze as he pressed his lips against her, tongue flicking out to swipe between her folds and tease her clit. He did it again slowly, massaging his tongue in a tight circle until she whimpered and bucked against his face. 

He fell into her then, let his lashes flutter closed as he probed into her entrance, his tongue already drowning with how wet she was. He lapped up her juices readily, plunging his tongue in as deeply as he could before licking a firm line back up to her clit. Again and again, fast, slow, up and down and from side to side, he worked every trick he could until they were both soaked from his efforts and she couldn’t stop crying out. He scraped his teeth against her clit gently, a tease just before he lightly sucked on the sensitive nub and had her shrieking. His tongue dove back through her opening to taste every ounce of her orgasm, her walls squeezing the deluge out of her.

He could’ve drowned in her and died a happy man.

Lips cherry from his effort, he panted against her quivering folds before he turned his mouth toward her thigh and sucked a sharp bruise into her sensitive flesh. She yelped until he let go with a wet pop and admired his handiwork, a little payback for the trouble she’d given him. He wiped his mouth off on her other thigh, only to nip the sensitive inner flesh playfully to wake her from her post-orgasm daze. 

“Can I fuck you now?” he prodded, pushing high onto his knees to look over her. His hands planted to the bed in anticipation. She eyed him for several moments, before she tipped her head and glanced down his still fully clothed figure.

“Take your clothes off,” she ordered, which Ransom could get behind. Smirking, he reached back to draw his shirt up when Marta barked, “A-tut!” Stilling, he furrowed his brow at her peculiarly. She smirked as she propped up onto one elbow and reached a hand out to stroke along his jaw. “Slower,” she instructed, _finally_ shocking the smug right off his face. His brows shot high on his forehead as he gaped at her.

“You want a strip tease?” he clarified incredulously. She giggled at him, as if he were silly for thinking anything else.

“Men aren’t the only ones who like to watch,” she taunted. He huffed at her, amazed at how easily she could make him feel both admired and like a piece of meat all at once. He lifted from his knees and reached out for her wrist with one hand, drawing his shirt up with the other. He set her hand against his abdomen, flexing the cut muscles when her fingers splayed out to feel him. She hummed appreciatively, curling her fingers to dig her nails into the rock hard muscles. As he inched his shirt up, she dragged her nails down him, leaving angry claw marks in their wake.

He hissed at the sting, his abs flexing harder before he shucked his shirt off and to the floor. She reached the top of his jeans then, and wrapped her fingers around the material to tug him a step closer. She unbuttoned his pants, eying his expression as she slipped the zipper down. She could feel his erection trying to press through the thick material, and brushed her knuckles against the thinner cotton of his briefs to egg a reaction. He rolled his hips forward, grinding against her fingers as his jeans sagged away from his hips.

Hooking his thumbs beneath both sides of his pants and briefs, he nudged them down bit by bit, teasing a show of his hips and the muscles that painted a V toward her prize. The front of his underwear got caught over an obvious lump, and he let the elastic band stretch as he threatened to push his clothes lower. Marta palmed his erection again, earning another languid buck that accentuated his mouth-watering abs.

She wrapped her own fingers through the front of his waistband, and slowly pulled them down until his cock sprang free. Mumbling a lusty groan, Marta leaned forward and wrapped her mouth around him. The silky, wet sensation of her tongue sliding over his bulbous head had Ransom breathless. He didn’t much care for blowjobs usually. They were fine, a little boring when he often preferred the control and frenzy of the main act, but having Marta’s sweet lips wrapped around him, flushed cheeks bobbing as much as she could make them over his thick shaft was a spectacular sight.

He let his clothes drop to the floor so he could thread his fingers through her hair. She continued to tease him with her lips folded tightly over his hardened flesh, until she felt his grip about to secure in her hair. Then, she popped off him, a twinkle in her eyes and a cheeky smile against her reddened lips. He huffed and tilted his head, and for a moment contemplated dragging her back onto his cock with the loose grip he still had on her hair. He released her though, watching curiously as she crawled up the bed and popped the clasp of her bra free. He crawled after her, hand fisting around the panties still caught on her calves, and ripped it down her legs to join the rest of their discarded clothes.

“You said you’d make me come as many times as I want,” Marta reminded, pausing Ransom. His fists planted into the bed beside her hips while she brought a finger up to touch his jaw. “I want you to make me come as many times as you can before you even _think_ of getting yourself off.” A barely audible chuckle escaped Ransom, and a dangerous smile curved his lips. The glint in his piercing gaze had Marta’s heart skipping a thrilling beat.

Grabbing her hips, he twisted her onto her side before he straddled the leg pressed into the bed. Surprised, Marta looked up at him while he wrapped her other leg around his hip. He met her gaze for a challenging moment, before he focused on pressing into her at the perpendicular angle. She realized, rather abruptly as his thick cock pushed into her, that the position allowed his head to brush against her g-spot with each stroke. In, out, it didn’t matter, every slow thrust had the bulbous tip grinding delightfully against her sweet spot.

Mewling desperately, Marta’s eyes fluttered closed as heat quickly consumed her, soft and blissful. His lazy pace lulled her to orgasm quicker than she expected, and the sweet grind of his cock against her g-spot only grew more pleasurable as her walls clenched around him. He breathed out slowly, controlled, and reached for the leg wrapped around his hip. He lifted it, opening her up a little more so he could push in deeper. His pace picked up just a little, to something more purposeful and enticing. She watched his abs flex through each thrust, felt like she might start drooling from more than just the hole between her legs, until he plunged into her hard enough that she screwed her eyes shut and came again.

He pulled out and flipped her the rest of the way onto her stomach. Hands gripping around her hips, he pulled her onto her knees and shoved his cock back inside her drenched walls. He heard her choke into the pillow she wrapped her arms beneath, and leaned over her to growl, “I also said I’d fuck you until you walked funny for a week.” Before she could say anything, he slammed into her, reducing her to a strangled cry. He did it again, picking up a brutal pace that had his cock drilling into her as deep and fast as it could go.

She whimpered and yipped, and nudged her hips back to meet every thrust, relishing every time their hips smacked harshly together. He pushed her legs further apart so the next hard buck had him piercing her deeper. A scream escaped her throat, and he gripped her hair to twist her face against the pillow enough that he could revel in the muffled sound. Keeping his fist buried in her hair, he slammed into her and watched her face contort in agonized bliss. He growled out a lecherous breath and bowed over her, pressing her stomach to the bed, leaving only their hips canted up to continue their rampant grind.

Marta felt like she was on fire, her every nerve singing to the ferocity Ransom smothered her with. Everything about him hardened with each passing thrust – his biceps bulging enough that his veins protruded, his abs steel cut, cock engorged and raging - but where their wet, burning flesh met felt raw and open and euphoric. Her throbbing core robbed her of any other sensation beside how _good_ he felt burrowed inside her. Their sweaty skin brushed together so softly, sending goose bumps crawling up her back. 

And when his lips wrapped around the base of her throat, tongue lashing her briefly before he sucked a bruise into her racing pulse, she came again.

Again, and again, _and again_. 

He could feel when her body started to give. Her body went from resisting him, matching him, convulsing from her many climaxes, to jello beneath him. She was as drenched in sweat as her own juices, and he could tell her mind was more haze than thought. He finally pulled back, gripping the base of his cock mercilessly to keep himself from spilling his load. She whimpered as she collapsed on the bed, and she couldn’t tell whether it was from relief or dismay. 

Breathing heavily, she slowly tipped toward her back, hand pushing up into her sweaty hair. He helped ease her onto her back, before he settled between her legs. “Just a little more, Beautiful,” he murmured, a prideful smirk quirking his lips as he admired her blissed- out expression. He pushed back into her slowly, reveling in the low groan that escaped her as her eyes rolled back into her head. She arched beneath him, and he took advantage of the opportunity to capture her elevated nipple between his teeth. She cried out as he suckled her flesh, tongue swirling around the tight bud.

When he released her to relax back against the mattress, he bowed over her to his elbows and slowly moved his hips. The languid buck still had a strangled moan escape her, the drag of his cock against her over-stimulated walls enough to make her writhe. His breath panted heavily against her neck as he pumped into her steady and strong, and she could suddenly feel what he was chasing by the way his movements grew mindless.

Eyes fluttering open, she found his eyes closed and lips parted in want. From the depths of _somewhere_ , a surge of energy gave Marta a second wind, and a bit more bite. “Don’t come,” she breathed, shocking Ransom’s eyes into snapping open. He met her gaze with confusion, and then defiance. “Don’t you dare come, Ransom!” she barked, latching her ankles together behind his back to keep him trapped within her. Finally, he looked a little panicked, dilated eyes widening, hips stuttering as he tried to wrap his brain around her demand. 

He listened though, muscles trembling as he strained to hold himself back. Amazed, Marta admired his stricken expression with half-lidded eyes. “Beg,” she demanded, grinning mischievously when he bucked into her a little harder from the frustration.

“Fuck you,” he snarled, grabbing her wrists to pin them above their heads. She arched within his hold, changing the angle he pounded into her at, and a breathy growl escaped him. 

“That’s… what… you’re doing,” she puffed, her words broken up by his desperate thrusts. He realized as he looked at her imperious expression and the seductive angle of her sweat-glazed body he couldn’t last any longer. His body already felt like a live wire, like his every nerve was about to explode because of the prolonged denial.

Fucking God _damn_ it. No, he didn’t whimper as he bowed his head, hiding his agonized expression by pressing his cheek to hers. “Please, Beautiful,” he panted in her ear, and Marta almost chuckled, because only Ransom could sound so demanding in desperation.

Instead, she breathily groaned, “Oh, fuck, _yes_.” His hips snapped into her, and an embarrassingly loud moan punched out of him as he finally climaxed. Her walls quivered around him one last time, milking every last drop she could from his constricting balls. He shivered, and nearly collapsed on top of her from how blinding and draining the euphoria was. Somehow, he managed to push himself off to the side, both groaning from the loss of contact.

They laid beside each other for several moments trying to catch their breath and gain their bearings. Exhaustion didn’t convey how blissfully numb he felt, so he couldn’t imagine how Marta felt. Blinking, he tried to reach for the tissue box on the end table beside him, and only managed to knock it off to the ground with his clumsy fingers. Grunting, he let his eyes fall closed, too tired to care about the predicament. He grabbed the sheet a moment later to haphazardly clean himself up, and tossed the strip of it to Marta to use as she saw fit.

A moment later, he felt her warm, soft body nestle up against him. She, too, was half asleep, and nuzzled against him to get more comfortable. Huffing, he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her tight against his side, content to fall asleep with her for a few hours. Before either could drift off, Marta quietly told him, “You don’t need to do everything alone, you know. You’ve been helping me. I can help you, too.” He opened his eyes and stared at the wall as her words tried to ensnare his heart the same way her fingers gripped around his flesh.

He blinked, his raw heart a little unsettled by the offer. Unable to face it, or the why behind his fear, he listened to Marta’s breathing even out and set his chin against the top of her head. Closing his eyes, he fell asleep to her heavenly scent of honey and citrus.


	28. Growth and Decay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's like some plot and some smut in this chapter. Idk, I hope you like it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously I suck at summaries xD Hopefully one day I'll figure it out, but for now I just wanted to say thank you again to everyone reading along/reviewing! It's been a pleasure writing this and I'm so glad its been well received so far. Hope everyone is staying safe and healthy out there in the world today! <3

During their movie swap day, one of the dogs came up to Ransom as they sat on the couch. Marta shifted her gaze from _Pan’s Labyrinth_ to watch as bright blue eyes locked with the shepherd’s big puppy eyes. Their staring contest lasted until the dog started breathing a little harder, ready to demand for _something_ of the man, until Ransom grabbed both sides of the dog’s face and practically squished his cheeks. The dog puffed and bowed his head into the affection, leaning a little more to one side as Ransom rubbed one cheek playfully.

Marta damn near melted. Her eyes twinkled as a soft smile quirked her lips watching the two interact. The shepherd brought one paw up to try and hook one of Ransom’s wrists, which had him chuckling quietly until he caught Marta’s stare. “What?” he asked, finally releasing the dog’s face. Marta shook her head, but Ransom already wasn’t paying attention since the shepherd perked up and continued to stare at him. He puffed a breath at its nose, causing the dog to snap its jaws playfully and crouch low with its front paws. It darted off a moment later, in search of a toy to bring back to Ransom.

She didn’t want to ruin the mood by pointing out how sweet he was with the dog, so she kept quiet and turned her secretive smile toward the TV. A few moments later, a thought bubbled past her lips before she could think it through. “We should go on a date.”

“What?” Ransom half laughed while he kicked the ball the dog had brought him under the furniture. The shepherd went scuffling for it, allowing Ransom to glance over at Marta more intently.

“A date. A _real_ date.”

“This isn’t a real date?” he teased, offering a charming half smirk. She huffed and shook her head, her smile broadening at his cheeky antics. Considering her request for a moment, he rolled his eyes and muttered, “Fine, but you’ll have to wear something nicer than your grandma sweaters.”

“Hey!” she griped, smacking his arm. He chuckled, a half-smile quirking his lips before he nodded toward the TV. “Rewind it. I missed all this shit I don’t know what’s going on,” he complained, shaking his head at the handicap subtitles created for passive watching. He had to admit though, the film was… interesting, and far darker than he expected Marta to be in to. That was what made her (and the movie, he supposed) so damn captivating though; he still never really knew what to expect. 

~*~

That went for their date as well. He hadn’t been kidding about wearing something nicer than her chunky sweaters (although at this point in the game, he did _kind_ of find them adorable, but he wasn’t about to tell her that). What she came down in had his expression going a little slack. A thin, pretty olive turtleneck covered her torso, the cropped bottom of the fabric allowing it to hang loosely and away from her navel. The could-be sexy top was made more modest by the high-waisted beige skirt she wore, which reached down toward her ankles where a set of brown boots already covered her dainty feet.

It wasn’t anything outlandishly sexy, but it was pretty in a way he hadn’t seen yet, sensual and classy. His fingers twitched as she reached the base of the stairs, nearing him with a subtle smile. She was becoming far too comfortable with her effect on him, he thought. He offered her a lazy half-smirk regardless, and murmured a flattering, “Wow.” Her smile broadened a little, before she put on her puffy white coat (it ruined the look a little, but he didn’t tell her that in honor of their date). They headed out in Ransom’s beamer, and drove into the outskirts of Boston to catch the reservation he’d made. 

Marta wasn’t surprised when they arrived at a fancy restaurant on the first floor of a lavish skyscraper. It was so unlike the rustic, but deceptively classy diner Ransom had taken to her the day Harlan’s will was read. She realized rather abruptly it was because he’d had no reason or desire to impress her then, and maybe he was trying to now. She cast him a glance as he parked his beamer, not trusting anyone enough to valet his precious car.

They headed inside, his hand against the small of her back until the reached the door. One of the valet’s opened it for them, and Ransom stepped up to the dark wood podium of the hostess stand to give his name. Marta glanced around at the pearly establishment with marble floors and lavish chandeliers. The staff was all dressed in proper, formal attire, and Marta realized why Ransom told her to dress up as she looked around the primly dressed patrons. It was nothing like the charity ball, but everyone looked like they were coming straight from a country club or meeting between formal business meetings.

Her cheeks heated a little, but she didn’t feel _so_ out of place as they followed the hostess to a small white table-clothed booth against one of the windows. Ransom sat down in the seat that had ample view of the establishment, leaving Marta to sit across from him and face the path to the kitchen, bathrooms, and dark wooded bar counter. She didn’t mind, folding her coat and purse against the crook of the booth and wall as she settled into the plush seat.

In a matter of moments, a waiter arrived with the drink menu. Ransom took it to gloss over, and took the liberty of ordering them a bottle of wine before he handed it back, leaving them to peruse the food menu for the time being. Marta’s veins started buzzing, and she could hardly sit still as her gaze flickered everywhere except the menu. “I’ve never been somewhere like this before,” she shared quietly. Ransom chuckled at her, his blue eyes intent on the day’s special selections.

“I’m not surprised,” he muttered dryly. She hesitated, sucking in a breath, before she looked down at the menu.

“Have you been here before?”

“Yeah, buncha times.”

“What do you recommend?” He paused to look up at her, brows furrowed and a peculiar smile quirking his lips. 

“You have no idea what any of these things are, do you?” he deduced, and abruptly had a blush flaring across her cheeks. “Guilty as charged,” he teased her, smirking wider when her bottom lip pouted out adorably. 

“Well why wouldn’t I be? There’s barely any description, and these names are in code!” she complained. Seriously, how was she supposed to know what a _le suprême de volaille aux truffes_ was? Ransom chuckled at her. When the waiter returned, he ordered a few plates for them and encouraged Marta to hand her menu back along with his.

“I ordered a few different plates. We can just share so you can sample a few things,” Ransom explained, once they were alone again with a bottle of wine and two glasses already poured for them.

“Oh, I like that.”

“Of course you do,” Ransom huffed, and if she didn’t know him better, she’d say he sounded condescending. She still leered at him, but trained her focus on tasting the wine. It was rich, and crisp for a red, but she liked it. Humming appreciatively, she gave a curt nod before taking a bigger sip. Ransom watched her as he held his own glass, a subtle smirk on his lips until he caught movement heading toward them. A woman dressed in practical heels and an expensive blouse and pencil skirt strut toward them, determination glinting in her dark eyes.

“You’re Marta Cabrera, right?” she asked upon reaching their table, flashing a practiced smile as Marta startled into looking at her. She held a hand out while crisply and professionally introducing, “Hi, I’m Loraine Crawford, from the Boston Magazine. I maybe heard down the grapevine that your recently inherited publishing company, Blood Like Wine, made an impressive and progressive partnership. Maybe with a company that starts with N.” Her voice took on that grating, sing-song cavalier-ness that had Ransom’s jaw clenching. “I was hoping I could ask-”

“Hey,” he snapped, slamming his hand down on the table to startle almost everyone in proximity. “You want an interview, you schedule it and pay for it. No freebees. Leave your card, and get the fuck out of our date,” he snarled, eyes boring into the reporter’s face like she was personally responsible for everything wrong in the world. She knew of him, of course. Everyone with interest in the story knew about Marta and Ransom, and she’d purposely ignored _him_ for multiple reasons, his childish temper one of them. 

Eying him with her own icy look, she turned back to Marta and forced a smile while passing off a business time. “Call me any time,” Loraine encouraged. 

“Thank you,” Marta said, offering a pale smile of her own. Loraine cast one last glare toward Ransom before she left. Marta glanced down at the card, and then pursed her lips as she looked at Ransom.

“Don’t look at me like that. She was being fucking rude,” he defended. Marta quirked a brow.

“So are you,” she chirped. He bristled. She shifted to put the card away in her purse, letting the topic drop for the time being. This wasn’t the first time Ransom had grown prickly and confrontational. It _used_ to be his default state, at least as far as she’d seen. Over the course of the last couple months, she’d started to see it differently. She’d thought the attitude came from just his family at first, but now she realized it seemed to happen any time he was surrounded by the culture he knew. 

She contemplated it as they ate their meal; a salmon dish, a traditional New England clam chowder, and some chicken and pasta dish. She didn’t know why they all had to have such fancy, foreign names with no description, but she supposed the rich liked to seem more elegant than they were. The food was delicious, at least, maybe not worth the price, but her taste buds certainly weren’t complaining. Still, after eating a bite of the chicken dish and washing it down with expensive wine, she glanced across at Ransom and quietly said, “Yours was better.”

He tried to hide it, but she caught him preening himself regardless and hid her smile behind another sip of wine.

~*~

“Can’t you come with me?” Marta whined just a few days later, earning a laugh from Ransom.

“Oh, no. I have no desire to sit at some posh reporting studio and watch you get interviewed,” he chided, shaking his head. “You’re the one that agreed to do a whole article for the Boston Magazine.”

“Yeah. But now I-“ she fidgeted in her chosen outfit, and Ransom had to admit, he didn’t want to let her go. She was sexy, enough to have his mouth watering and muscles twitching to scoop her up and pin her to something. The red sweater she wore clung to every bit of her like a second skin, and the broad V-neck of it exposed so much more of her clavicle and cleavage than he was used to that he wanted to ravish her. He realized she couldn’t often wear pieces like this because he left too many damn hickeys for it to be appropriate, but damn did he want to mark her skin all over as his eyes raked down the black, velvety skirt she wore, her calves and a bit of thigh peeking from the modest slit on the side of the skirt.

He grabbed her hips and drew her close, relishing in the tortuous heat radiating between them. Ignoring the twitch in his loins, he smiled easily and said, “Just remember, you can refuse to answer any questions you want. Keep it focused on the Netflix deal, show everyone you know what you’re doing.”

“But I don’t know what I’m doing,” she bemoaned, earning another laugh from Ransom that had her smiling.

“Fake it ‘til you make it, Sweetheart.”

“And what are you going to do all day?”

“Whatever I want,” he teased, grinning wolfishly. Her eyes narrowed on him, suspicion evident. She didn’t have time to press, however, and after a swift kiss goodbye, she fled in her beat up old hatchback to get to the Boston Magazine’s headquarters. She was a bundle of nerves the whole drive, and that only worsened when she met with Loraine in her office. She was greeted politely and encouraged into a seat, and the second she sat down, her nerves got the best of her. 

Before Loraine could even ask if she wanted a coffee, Marta blurted, “I’m going to tell you this now, before we start, I won’t answer any questions about Harlan’s death, or anything surrounding the murder trials, or my personal affairs. Just the publishing company and the upcoming projects.” Loraine smiled tightly and nodded.

“Of course,” she muttered, before she pointed out her office and asked, “Coffee?”

“Yes, please.” While Loraine went to get them both a mug, Marta looked around the neatly kept office and felt a strange sense of loss. She wished Ransom were here, she realized with a muted sense of surprise. The sense of security he gave her seemed more potent in unfamiliar situations, so she felt the absence of it more than when she was with her family. It was surreal to consider, and a little unnerving, which is of course when Loraine returned with their coffee. She smiled and sat across from Marta, clicking a pen to life over her notepad and bringing a small handheld recorder to life.

“So… should we get started?”

~*~

While Marta was at her interview, Ransom went to his own impromptu meeting. Despite her claims and desire to help him, this one he _definitely_ needed to do alone. He’d never admit to the anxiety he felt, gripping his stomach in a vice that made him briefly feel like he could succumb to Marta’s puking condition. His veins felt jittery and his heart pounded a little harder, but he marched with conviction as he entered the restaurant Linda Drysdale usually went to on her lunch breaks.

She was bowed over her appointment book, thick rimmed glasses sitting neatly on her nose and a crisp, brightly colored pantsuit making her stick out like a peacock amongst the other diners. He huffed, and breezed by the hostess without saying a word as he walked up to her table and plopped into a seat across from her. She didn’t lift her head at first, not until he groused a simple, clipped, “Mother.”

She looked up then, her eyes narrowed and head cocked in a manner that would’ve made anyone else flinch. Ransom just glared back, until Linda huffed and crossed her legs, her hands folding together atop her now closed appointment book. Ransom leaned back in his chair and took his time to survey the crowd, their displays of indifference and superiority only meant to irritate the other further. Ransom could feel the moment the silence grew electric with hostility, and only then did he purse his lips and nod.

“I have Benoit looking into you, see if he can dig up dirt we can use to steer you away from this civil court case,” he finally told her, cutting straight to business, just the way she liked. His pointed glare lazily flickered back to her, and a single finer rapped against the finely clothed table. “But I already have some, don’t I?” he goaded, before he leaned forward to bow over the table in a threatening impression. “You can’t use my confession in this case of yours, because it proves you paid off authorities and whatever other nefarious men to scrub my evidence.”

Linda chuckled as his attempt to intimidate her, and she casually pointed out, “If that evidence comes to light, the only person it hurts is you. You’ll go back to prison in a heartbeat.” She sounded arrogant, delighted even, and Ransom’s control quickly tipped toward confusion and agitation. He straightened up a little and shook his head.

“Why? Why help me avoid one conviction to drag me into another?” 

“Honey, that’s the _only_ reason I helped you avoid a murder conviction,” Linda snapped, before she leaned nearer to take the same haughty stance he had, getting in his face as she continued, “you think after what you did to _my_ father, I’m going to let you get away with everything? Prison’s too kind a fate for you. What, with your charm and the money you still have, I couldn’t take the chance you’d make your stay more comfortable than I’d like.” His gut started to twist, and if he didn’t know better, he would’ve looked away. But anyone with self-preservation wouldn’t show a shred of weakness in the face of a vindictive bitch who’d just use it to tear you to shreds. She still tried, chuckling callously at him before saying, “Besides, you still have assets. _Expensive_ assets that’ll do better with me than you. So I’m going to rip everything you have out from under you and leave you on the goddamn streets where you fucking belong alongside your father.”

His own anger boiled, hardening his glare to venomous ice. He knew he was nothing to her, just another business venture like everything else in her life, but she’d always half-pretended before. There was no reason to anymore; however, with Harlan being gone. “I’m only going to warn you once, _Mother_ ,” he snarled, ire dripping from the last word. “Drop the case.” She smiled, the look sharp with malice. She sat up tall and lifted her chin triumphantly.

“Alright. I will,” she agreed, pausing long enough to make him suspicious before she clarified, “ _yours_. In exchange for everything you can possibly give me on Marta.” He stilled, eyes widening ever so slightly at the ultimatum. Proposition, she’d call it, and normally he would’ve taken it. He boasted honor and solidarity when it suited him, but everyone knew all he cared about was preserving his own skin. Even now, he considered it. He had everything he wanted, and thus far more to lose through a messy trial. He was skeptical his family would have any kind of success with it, but he’d never passed up a short cut to get what he wanted before.

And yet… 

Watching her son think it over for so long, Linda scoffed. “You know, if I didn’t already know you’re incapable of love, I might think you’ve actually fallen for her,” she sneered. Ransom’s gaze locked onto her sharply, his lips tightly pressed together.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped, but Linda’s brows rose in both surprise and disgust.

“By golly you have,” she breathed, her voice low and conspiring. She leaned forward again, and goaded, “Does she love you back? Is that why you did it, Ransom? Did she twist you against your family - compel you to kill your own grandfather - for the promise of love in exchange for our fortune? Did you two plan this all together, and you only attacked her to keep her the innocent little victim, ensure you two got away with all of it?” Ransom’s blood went cold as his mother smirked, and tipped back in her seat like she’d already won. “The way you two have been parading around together lately, the jury’ll believe it, and that’s all I need.”

Ransom clenched his fist and forced a cold smile. He lifted from his seat slowly, fingers rubbing together in a futile attempt to lessen his fury. Pausing beside her table, he glared down at her and said, “Just remember, you’re the one who chose to pick this fight, so don’t bitch when it blows up in your face.” She huffed, and smiled at him derisively.

“Honey, you haven’t done a single worthwhile thing in your life, and if recent history has anything to tell us, you’re not a very good planner, either. Be smart for once, and take my offer. You’re not going to get a better one,” she chided him icily. His jaw clenched, his walls steeling over to keep her biting words away from his heart as he twisted around and walked away without another word.

~*~

Marta’s heart pounded as she drove back to the mansion, darkness already creeping over the winter day. His beamer was in the driveway when she drove up, but hardly a light was on in the mansion, which felt strange. The anxiety she felt only heightened, some innate understanding that something was wrong making her rush to park and race into the house. The second she was inside and shut the door, she called into the darkness, “I’m sorry I’m late. The meeting ran over, and then I got stuck in traffic. It took me an hour to-“ 

She fell silent when she reached the library. She almost missed him, but her attention seemed honed into his presence no matter the circumstance. Creeping into the room, she looked over where he was slouched in an armchair, a bottle of half-gone whiskey hanging loosely from his fingertips. Her brows lifted in surprise before she asked, “What happened?”

“I, uh,” he chuckled slowly, scratching a finger along his hairline idly, “saw my mother.” Jaw locking, he rolled his eyes and brought the bottle up to take another gulp of burning liquor. He licked his lips as he swallowed it down, glaring at the wheel of knives like it was to blame for all the problems he had. “She won’t go down without a fight.”

“So we fight,” Marta said simply. Ransom scoffed, his crystal eyes still diverted. Pressing her lips together, she straightened and marched toward him. As she stood over him, he finally lifted his gaze to her face. “Did something else happen with her?” she asked, a little confused as to why he was drunk already before 6pm, and strangely off-put. He never let anyone see how they affected him, which struck him harshly in that moment as Marta tried to figure out what was wrong with him.

 _You’ve changed me,_ he thought, almost accusingly. “It’s none of your fucking business,” he snapped at her lowly, shooting up from the chair to remove himself from her presence. She didn’t budge, and he abruptly became aware of how drunk he was when all she had to do was tug on his sleeve to tip him off balance. He collapsed back into the chair with an _oomph_. Surprised, he blinked up at her and laughed in spite of everything. So quick to turn lecherous, his eyes raked down her seductively dressed figure, so many past instances with pushy strippers prompting him to ask now, “You gonna give me a lap dance?”

Marta quirked a brow. She certainly didn’t want to reward his abrasive behavior, but on the other hand, he seemed genuinely distraught and she knew he wasn’t likely to talk about it. Sex was such an easy way to put him in a good, pliant mood that she stepped back and looked around contemplatively. It felt less morbid doing such a thing in this room after New Years, and she passively considered how twisted that made her, but she set her phone on the new library desk and put on a Spotify playlist with slow, poppy beats.

As _Sing To Me_ by MISSIO came on, she swiveled around on her heels and watched the light flicker back into Ransom’s eyes. It was all the encouragement she needed as he fingers trailed down her skirt and she swayed her hips between them. Her movements started shy, matching the song in a strange way, until she reached his chair. He dropped the bottle to the ground as she leaned over him, rolling her whole body in a languid, seductive dance. She twisted her hips before his knees, before she slid her legs onto the chair, straddling him within two beats.

She circled her hips over him impressively, grinding down against his lap in a way that had his breath hitching. Glassy eyes dilated a little as she switched her rhythm and rocked herself against him from side to side. His hips nudged up of their own accord, fingers bunching around her thin sleeve to pull it down her arm, exposing her bra strap. He repeated it on the other side, widening the neck of her shirt until the peaks of black lace became visible beneath. Mouth watering as he watched her chest bounce before his face with each roll of her hips, he met her dark gaze as his hands dropped to her knees. He smoothed his fingers up the sides of her legs, pushing her skirt up toward her hips.

Sexy as everything about her was, that wasn’t what did him in. She smiled, soft and sweet, her gentle gaze twinkling at him in a way that made his heart break. Hand latching behind her neck, he dragged her into a bruising kiss that had them both breathless. Their tongues lashed together lavishly while his broad palm scraped over her lace-covered chest. She panted into the kiss, hips bucking eagerly until his other hand slipped beneath her skirt. He flicked her panties aside with his thumb so he could bury two fingers into her slit, which immediately had her back arching and body going rigid.

“Keep dancing,” he growled against her lips, fingers twisting inside her as he moved them languidly through her building flood. She whimpered against his lips, breath ragged as she rolled her hips and fucked herself onto his fingers. A shiver worked its way up her spine at the way he leered at her, desirous and demanding all at once. His eyes blackened entirely as she found a steady rhythm, the slide of her tight, wet walls against his skin making his cock harden painfully. He snagged her lips in another hungry kiss, felt her quiver against him, and slipped his fingers out of her to keep her on the edge. 

She whimpered her protest, but lifted higher on her knees once she felt his hands groping up her thighs. To prevent him from tattering _another_ pair of lace, she quickly lifted up to her feet. He snarled, and almost lurched from the chair until he noticed her slipping her panties down her legs. Easing back only just, he watched her reach for her shirt when he commanded, “Keep it. It’s hot.” The cut of her shirt against her arms and beneath her ribs, black lace standing above it… yeah, it was sexy. She smiled, flushing happily at his pleasure and moved for him.

He unbuckled his pants and snaked them down his hips just in time for her to climb over his lap again. She inched forward eagerly, gripping him in one hand before she took the liberty to sink over him. Ransom sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as wet heat slowly enveloped every inch of his cock. A low groan escaped him as Marta sighed, his head falling to her exposed clavicle as the song suddenly slowed. 

_Somebody told me that there’s two sides to this life  
I think I might’ve chosen darkness over light_

Ransom lifted his head and looked into her eyes, that same gentle look greeting him, despite how it had been taken over by lust. Eyes hooded, she arched her back and rocked her hips up, before sinking back down in a way that had Ransom groaning agonizingly. His arm wrapped around her waist, binding her flush against him as he bucked his hips up, matching pace with each erotic bounce she did. 

The song changed, _Vacant_ by Echos filling the shadowed space with another dark, sensual beat for them to rut to. Their breathy moans mingled with the melody, lips a hair’s breadth away from touching. Ransom was desperate to taste her, his cock pulsing each time he slid through her slick walls. He tipped his chin up, chasing her lips until she gripped the sides of his face, and instead rested her forehead against his.

He grew dizzy, wheezed for a breath as he jutted his hips into her, her own grinding down against him in a manner that had sweat building against both their temples. He could count how many times he’d made love on one hand, and the experience seemed to want to drown him in it now. His stunted heart wouldn’t let him sink into the ardor though, so he bowed his head to her collar in a desperate attempt to contain himself. He nipped at her skin, mouthed at her clavicle until she whimpered and snaked her hand up the back of his head. Her nails curled into a thick of his hair, steeling herself as the heat in her core began to wind and build. 

“Ransom,” she breathed, moaning in his ear as she rode him, her movements slow and hard to match the music neither were paying much attention to anymore. “Ransom, you feel so good. So fucking good filling me up.” She mewled, and God damn it, he almost came right there.

“Fuck,” he breathed, finally releasing the vice grip he had around her waist to squeeze both hands around her taut ass. He shifted against the seat, widening the stance of his legs so he could more easily thrust his hips up, drilling his cock deep into her cunt until they both convulsed with their budding climaxes. Marta arched over him again, her breathy squeal more musical than whatever song the playlist had turned to, Ransom’s groan accompanying her as his cock throbbed through her clenching walls. When his come finished spilling, and he was left in the dazed, vulnerable afterglow of that intimate ride, he looked up at her with a glazed twinkle in his eyes.

“You’ve gotta be the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he mumbled, causing Marta’s heart to twist. She searched his face, knowing deep down that she felt the same. But admitting that aloud felt… horrifying. It felt like a terrible betrayal, like she was spitting in the face of Harlan and Fran, to so easily and completely love their murderer. She set her hand to the side of his cheek, and instead kissed him as tenderly as her heart ached for him. He groaned, muffled, against her lips, and she let the chaste embrace linger until the need for air grew to be essential. She kissed him again, before petting her fingers through the side of his hair.

“Lets get some food in you, Ransom,” she encouraged, wanting to sober him up before bed. He grumbled something unintelligible, but they untangled from their perch on the chair and drifted into the kitchen. As Marta searched for something suitable to eat, her hair crazed and beautiful lips bruised red from their antics, he knew. Inebriated or not, he couldn’t deny himself this. Everything before this felt so meaningless. Whatever games he’d played or desires he’d had diminished to nothing. Oh, he still wanted his money, and he’d keep it. His house and his car, too. His mother could try and come take everything from him, but he knew for certain as he listened to Marta hum as she pulled a few things out of the fridge.

He’d burn the whole goddamn world down before he let anyone take her from him.


	29. Happiness Was Just A Breath Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our two lovers have a heart to heart and expand some hope for their domestic bliss while those who oppose and despise them look to tear their happiness apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, sorry this took so long. This was definitely one of the most challenging chapters to write, and I'm not sure how I feel about it... but instead of festering over perfection I'm just going to post it. >.<
> 
> PLEASE be aware that the tags have changed. I've added several that will apply through the end of this story. That's it folks, the crazy train has officially left the station and we're all strapped in for a rough ride, but if you keep your hands and feet inside the car at all times and hold on until the end, I promise to get you through it with an ending these two deserve, yeah? :fingers crossed:
> 
>  **Specific warnings for this chapter:** Brief mentions of gore and a hate crime

A few days later, Marta’s interview article was posted. Naturally, they received a hard copy for the magazine, and Ransom took some time flipping through it. He smirked at the poised photograph of her they’d taken, the memory of what he’d later done to her in that red shirt and black skirt flickering through his mind. Another thoughtful pose was printed on the pages that held her interview questions and responses, and he tipped his head as he read through a few of them.

 **Interviewer:** Harlan was against any TV or movie deals while he was alive. What made you decide to move forward with it?

 **Marta:** Well. Since he’s passed away, we won’t be getting any new stories from him. I thought this way, it might be nice to still be able to experience his stories in a new way, but one that still of course carries his voice and the legacy we all love.

Ransom smiled proudly, huffing a little as he said, “’Atta girl.” He skimmed over the answers he knew, like how Netflix would start with an original movie adaptation for _A Thousand Knives_ to start, and how _The Menagerie Tragedy Trilogy_ would be made into a series. His perceptive, sharp stare latched onto a question Ransom wondered if Marta knew had been on the docket before the interview started.

 **Interviewer:** I know you were a nurse before receiving the Thrombey inheritance. Are you going to continue working as a nurse?

 **Marta:** I don’t know. It’s all I’ve ever done. So I guess for now, I’m going to see how this goes.

Ransom’s brows furrowed as he read over the simple Q&A. He could practically see Marta stumbling over the answer when she said it, and it made him wonder. He didn’t do anything about it until later that day, when the two were passing some time with an idle game of Go. 

“Do you miss working as a nurse?” Ransom asked quietly, setting a black stone down against the grid board between them. Marta perked up, obviously startled by the question.

“I… I don’t know,” she mumbled, her stomach giving a queasy twist of protest. Lowering her eyes to the board, she lifted a white stone to set down before she amended, “Sometimes, but not enough to want to return.” Even he could detect how weighted those words were. After clicking another stone down to the board slowly, he studied her reserved, borderline avoidant expression.

“Why?” Maybe it wasn’t fair of him to ask, but that had never stopped him before. Marta looked up at him inquisitively. She couldn’t tell how genuine his curiosity was, or if it was even worth discussing when he might not be able to empathize. Glancing back down at the board, she focused on her next move for several moments before deciding to answer.

“I don’t think I could treat another patient without thinking about what happened to Harlan. Any time I pick up a medicine bottle, or see someone with gray hair…” she trailed off, and ultimately shook her head. “I just don’t think nursing has a place in my life anymore. And I’m okay with Harlan being my last patient.” She paused for a moment, before a chuckle escaped her. “I think he’d probably like that.” The humorous, albeit bittersweet comment hung heavily between the two of them, and Ransom thumbed a smooth black stone for several moments.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said quietly, causing Marta to look up at him in surprise. He felt a little sick, the feeling caught in his throat, and he clenched his jaw to keep his composure. “I know I’ve said it before… mostly to everyone but you, but… I-I mean it.” He hesitated, his own eyes widening a little as the unknown gave him a bit of a fright. Marta remained silent, watching him with as neutral a face as possible to keep his offered vulnerability from tipping toward something defensive. He couldn’t find any further words for several moments, and when he finally did, all he could mutter was, “I didn’t think – I just didn’t think, and I hurt you. Not the way I meant to, but-“ 

His frustration became evident as the words got harder to force out. Before he could crash and burn, Marta shoved the Go board aside. Ransom’s brows lifted in mild surprise as he watched stones skitter about the floor, until Marta was suddenly in front of him. Her hands wrapped around his face, body pressing toward his until he leaned back enough that she was able to settle atop his crossed legs. She kissed him, hard, until he grew dizzy and a little uncomfortable under the unexpected pressure. 

Her fingers sifted into his hair, scratching his scalp the way she _knew_ turned him to putty. He groaned, his shoulders threatening to relax, and only then did she pull back enough to look into his bright blue eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured to him sweetly, making his stomach twist funnily. His brows knit, and uncertainty clouded his eyes as he watched her smile. He grew frustrated a moment later.

“You’re the easiest goddamn woman to please,” he griped, cheeks threatening to flush. Marta giggled, though she quirked a brow at him.

“Are you really complaining?”

“Even I know that was a shit apology.”

“But you’re trying,” she placated, which only made him scowl at her.

“I hate you.”

“Mmm do you?” Her tone turned coy as she bit her lip, one hand dropping to tug down her shirt and flash a bit of crimson lace. Ransom’s gaze followed, eyes narrowing to try and hide the lusty darkness growing in his stare. His leer lifted toward her bawdy expression a moment later.

“Answer me straight. Have you always been so bold in the bedroom?” he drawled, though he did reach up and cup his hand around her voluptuous breast. Marta grinned as her lips neared his, her eyes hooded and incredibly alluring.

“I guess you just bring something out in me,” she purred, knowing it’d get a rise out of him, and it did. His cock hardened painfully beneath her, a breath rattling past his lips before he finally snagged hers in a gracious kiss. Blundering discomfort forgotten for the time being, he scooped his arms around her and dragged her flush against him, reveling in the friction. As their tongues tangled, and their veins buzzed with lustful heat, Ransom realized for the first time in his life he felt genuinely happy, and maybe even safe enough to unwind the barbed wire that surrounded his heart. 

_Maybe._

~*~

He wasn’t the only one who read the article, and all too soon after its release did Marta receive a _scathing_ call from Walt. The disgraced former CEO of the publishing company couldn’t handle the news, and left a voicemail on Marta’s phone that had her jerking back in fright at the volume of his voice.

“You FUCKING bitch!” he shouted, and she could just about picture the spittle flying from his beet red face. “How dare you - _how dare you_ take my deal - **my** hard work and profit off it. If you think I’m going to let you get away with this – if you think I’m not going to bring this up with my lawyer and come after you for everything and your mother for stealing my fucking company and my business deals, you’ve got another thing coming you piece of s-“

Ransom took the phone from Marta and shut the message off. Lips thinning in a tight line, he studied her ghastly pallor and parted lips, the shock of his uncle’s rant having metaphorically slapped her. His jaw clenched. After a moment of thought, he nodded toward her and suggested, “Before you go to lunch with your mom, you should file for a restraining order against Walt. Let them listen to this recording, talk about how many times he’s shown up at your mom’s, drunk and threatening you.” 

As he handed the phone back, he paused and realized, “Actually… that might help us with our civil case. I’ll confirm with my lawyer, but might as well get it in the works. If we can undermine them with harassment charges… it could be an angle.”

It wasn’t a bad idea.

She’d been hoping to ask Ransom to come to lunch with her and her mother, but with a trip to the police department added on top, she refrained for that particular day. She drove to the police station in her beat up old hatchback, and asked to see Detective Elliot. Upon hearing her name, it only took a few minutes for the detective to greet her in the waiting room.

“Marta Cabrera,” he said, smiling warmly as she came to stand before him. He held a hand out for her to shake, before he gestured for her to follow him. “I’d say it’s nice to see you, but I don’t suppose you came here just to say hello to me,” he commented, tone light in spite of what he expected.

“No,” Marta huffed, taking a seat in the curved plastic chair beside his desk once they arrived. He plopped back into a far comfier looking chair, though it squeaked beneath his tall stature. His long arms folded over the armrests as his dark eyes stared at her expectantly. “I’ve come to talk about filing a restraining order.”

“Really?” Elliot said, perking up in his chair immediately.

“Yes. On, uh, Walt Thrombey?” Marta admitted, swallowing nervously in the midst of her request.

“Oh,” the detective remarked, obviously taken aback. She knew who he had anticipated, but she didn’t want to acknowledge it. He stared at her for a moment, which she sat through silently and tried to quiet her discomfort, before he stiffly reached for his little notebook. It was the same one he’d used to jot down the ‘facts’ from the Thrombey interviews a few months ago. He grabbed a pen, and set it down to the page before he asked, “Okay, can you tell me what Mister Thrombey has done to warrant a restraining order?”

Marta set her phone between them and set it on speakerphone before she played the voicemail for Detective Elliot. He tipped back in his chair, brows lifting slightly, and once the recording finished, Marta told him about the two times Walt had shown up at her mother’s apartment. After jotting down some notes for himself, Elliot tapped the tip of the pen to his notepad a few times and nodded. 

“Alright. I’ll need you to fill out some paperwork. We’ll file it, and then there’ll be a court hearing where a judge will review the case,” Elliot explained to her, rifling through his desk drawers to find the appropriate paperwork. Once he grabbed it, he handed it off to Marta, along with his pen. Once she took it, he tipped his head to catch her gaze and warned her, “Restraining orders are no joke, okay? A judge is going to need to be convinced there’s a serious threat to your safety to be willing to approve one, so you’re going to need to be concise, and be willing to answer any questions surrounding Walt’s interactions with you. You got that?”

Marta nodded, which Elliot reciprocated. He looked her over as she bowed over the papers to start filling them out, and couldn’t stop himself from pointing out, “You know, when you showed up, I thought you were here to file against Ransom.” Marta’s pen paused over the pages.

“Yeah, I know,” she muttered quietly, before she went back to filling out the form. Elliot’s lips pursed to hide a quizzical smile. 

“So you must be happy his acquittal’s going to stand,” Elliot prompted after several pensive moments. He stared at her with his dark eyes, curiously watching as she lifted her head and pursed her lips in an awkward smile. She finished signing her name at the bottom of the form without looking, before she passed it off to Elliot without a word. He huffed, but accepted the clipboard back. Reluctantly, his eyes dropped to it, just to quickly check and make sure everything had been filled out correctly. He nodded a moment later. 

“Alright. We’ll get this filed this week, and you should receive a court date some time within the next month. Unless we have any questions in the mean time, just keep an eye on the mail. And document any further interactions you have with Walt, if you think it could help with a ruling,” he told her, and she appreciated the matter of fact tone more than his probing. 

“Thank you, Detective,” she told him, before she grabbed her things and left the police station. She appreciated that Elliot didn’t ask questions about Ransom, despite how he obviously had wanted to. She was getting tired of defending her relationship, and right now she needed all her wit and willpower to do so with her mother. Every time they had lunch together, Ransom came up at some point. Marta’s mother was stubborn and reluctant to accept him, and Marta didn’t blame her. She was just tired of being looked at like she was crazy or stupid, even if it might be true.

“Alice is coming home this weekend?” Marta asked as they sat at a table in a local deli Mama liked visiting. Since inheriting the Thrombey fortune, Alice had moved into on campus housing for Lesley University, which was north of Boston and far enough from their residence that commuting had been a pain. Marta had been more than happy to give her sister a chance to experience the full college experience, something she’d never had a chance to do when she went to nursing school.

Truth be told, this time with Ransom was the first time she _hadn’t_ lived with her mother and sister as well.

It was obvious Mama was more heavily affected than her two daughters. She nodded vigorously while she chewed down her salad. Marta smiled a little, and then it came. “When all this lawyer business is over, we should move away,” Mama told her. She licked her lips of a bit of dressing and finished crunching through her lettuce before she shook her head. “There’s been too much pain and mayhem here.” Marta watched her mother, head slightly tilted as she considered the statement. She knew better, but she took a breath and shifted in her seat.

“Actually, I was thinking maybe I’d go traveling for awhile, once you’re a permanent resident,” Marta admitted, knowing it wouldn’t be received well by her overprotective mother.

“Why? With that killer white boy? Where?” Marta snorted at the tirade of questions her mother couldn’t help asking. She smiled, but her chest felt tight. She shook her head, trying to shrug off the weight her mom’s disapproval caused her.

“I don’t know yet, and I wouldn’t go until I know you and Alice are where you want to be-“

“We want you to be away from that monster!” Mama urged, slapping her palm down onto the table. Marta pursed her lips, and rather childishly thought, _Beast_ , to combat her mother’s insistence for the umpteenth time. 

“I know you don’t understand, Mama, and I know you’re just worried for me. And I know ever since dad left, we’ve only had each other – you, me, and Alice - but I’ve explained to you many times now that I’m with Ransom, and I feel safe with him. I won’t keep defending myself… so you don’t have to accept that I’m with him, but you need to accept that it won’t change,” Marta told her mother, shocking the older woman with her bold determination. She’d never used such finality with her mother before, and she blew out a slow breath as this new boundary solidified. 

“It’d be nice though, if you did,” Marta admitted a moment later. Tipping back in her seat, she mustered another smile. _Maybe one day,_ Marta thought to herself, knowing it could possibly benefit all parties involved. Marta would certainly be happier if all her loved ones got along, and she knew Ransom would do well with some positive family experiences. After seeing him so raw and vulnerable after his altercation with his mother, he maybe even needed it. Just like he needed her. Her smile turned a little dreamy as she reminisced on his words.

_You’ve gotta be the best thing that’s ever happened to me._

Mama watched her daughter’s dewy, love-struck expression for a few moments before she quietly relented, “Alright, Mija. I’ll try… for you.” 

~*~

When Marta got home, she was so excited, she flung herself into Ransom’s arms. Surprised as always, his brows lifted as he caught her, head tipping back to try and catch her glittering expression. She smothered his lips in a sinful kiss before he could get a good look, which had a noise somewhere between a laugh, a growl, and a groan escaping him. Puffing himself when she finally drew back, he searched her expression with a curious smile and guessed, “I guess your day went well?”

She nodded, but instead of telling him about the arguably boring details, she announced, “I want to have a family dinner. Maybe here, this weekend? Alice is coming down to visit, and I thought maybe you could cook?”

“Oh did you?” Ransom retorted, his brows lifting incredulously. She just smiled, and bat her lashes at him in the way she knew he had a hard time resisting. His eyes narrowed, lips pursing as he quickly sniffed out her scheme. “Well what’s in it for me?” he growled, the hidden playfulness in his tone only causing Marta’s smile to bloom wider. His heart stuttered at how beautiful she looked, and knowing he was the cause of it only made it sweeter. It was almost enough for him to drop his rues and say yes, but he held fast and waited to see what Marta came up with.

That’s how she found her stomach pressed against one of the mansion’s many desks, hands tied behind her back, Ransom’s hand coaxing her vibrator through her clenching cunt as he played with the vibration settings. He reveled in every breathy growl and euphoric scream he pulled from her, every piece of him enraptured by her unhinged pleasure. He’d never felt that before. Sure, he prided himself on leaving his partners whimpering messes, but the sheer lust and adoration he felt for Marta’s dazed expression and flushed skin was something to marvel at.

He still did, once they’d finished fucking themselves senseless. They’d made it to one of the couches, Marta protectively tucked against his side as she rested her head against his shoulder. He had his arms wrapped around her, and his finger skimmed over an already fading hickey he’d left on the curve of her supple breast. A weak moan hummed from her, her lashes fluttering sleepily. He huffed, a small smile quirking his lips as his hand affectionately rubbed down her side. His heart thudded heavily beneath her hand, and his marveling suddenly turned to pure nerves as his mind wandered back to the start of their evening.

“So…” he trailed off, a grumble hitching in the back of his throat. Silence filled the space between them with tension, and Ransom’s ears tipped red, before he finally muttered, “What should I make for dinner this weekend?” Marta lifted her head, amazed by his sudden abashment. His blue eyes glittered almost nervously as he looked her over, and she suddenly had to wonder if he was worried about impressing her family. 

Her heart bubbled with an emotion so strong, the words nearly blurted out her lips before she could stop them. Lips pressing together to keep her stupidity silent, a blush tinted her own cheeks. She smiled awkwardly, though the endearment lasted in her dark gaze. She kissed him, tender and slow, the sensual pressure almost enough to entice them both back into lustful waters. Marta drew back though, her smile more genuinely serene as she said, “Why don’t we go look up some things and figure it out?”

~*~

They settled on chicken cordon bleu and steamed asparagus since it was likely to appease everyone’s appetites, and wasn’t something Mama could form offense over (so Marta hoped). The last thing she wanted was for her mother to critique Ransom’s cooking, as she knew just how special it was that he’d agreed to share his talent with more than just her. Her mother had no experience with the Swiss-originated dish, so Marta felt confident in their chances.

Excitement fluttered through her stomach as afternoon rolled toward evening. She hopped against the kitchen island, before crossing her arms and leaning atop them as she watched Ransom gather the ingredients from the fridge. He let her be as he took a mental check of the ingredients and the recipe steps, before he glanced over his shoulder with a quirked brow. “Don’t think you’re going to get to just sit there and watch, Princess. Come over here and help me,” he demanded. A huffy giggle left her, but she rounded the island to approach his side and help him prepare the meal.

In the midst of their food prep, Marta’s phone rang. She hastily rinsed her fingers off and blotted them on a towel before she grabbed it. She’d been expecting a call from her family to let her know they were on the way, so she answered her mother with a bright, “Hola, Mama!” Her face dropped a moment later, her mother’s frantic voice hard to keep up with at first. “What?” Marta’s stress levels rose in an instant, bringing Ransom to a halt as his blue eyes watched her intently.

A few more words passed between the two, the frantically uttered Spanish causing Ransom’s brows to furrow before Marta swiveled on him. “We need to go to the hospital, Ransom. It’s Alice – she’s been attacked,” she told him, the words leaving her as if spoken from someone else. They didn’t feel real, and she felt both sick and completely void at the same time, like the news had ejected her from her own body. Ransom’s eyes widened slightly, but he made quick work of packing away the food they’d started to prep in the fridge and cleaned his hands while Marta collected their coats and wallets.

With their combined effort, they were out the door in under ten minutes, the beamer’s engine roaring against the frigid February night as Ransom pushed it to dangerous speeds. Marta’s quick, shallow breathing had his gaze flickering toward her repeatedly, but he said nothing. Even when they parked at the hospital, he trailed after her in a strange silence that seemed to anchor her frenzy. His eyes flickered around the sterile hospital waiting room as Marta went up to the reception counter to ask about her sister.

The nurse told them where to go, and Marta navigated the hospital halls with practiced efficiency. She found their way to the private room Alice had been set up in, their distraught mother already perched in a seat with stressful tears welling in her eyes as she stared at Alice. Marta’s frenzy took over as she looked over her sister, the horrified gasp that escaped her involuntary. She rushed forward to frantically ask after her sister and check the medical clipboard resting against the bulky hospital bed.

Ransom just froze in the doorway of the room.

Half of Alice’s face was swollen, black and blue, and bloody. Her lip was split, and her breath had a wheezing rattle to it that indicated broken ribs. The way she favored her left side further proved it, and her right arm was already in a cast. With familiar ebony hair and olive skin, her busted up face made it so easy to see someone else lying there in her place, and all Ransom saw was red.

 _I was jumped._ The words registered past the strange fog that had built in his head, and he blinked out of his trance, his mind slow to pick up Alice was weakly sharing what happened.

“By who?” Marta asked, an obvious strain in her voice. 

“I don’t know, I didn’t see them, and they took off the second the station security guard heard the scuffle,” Alice croaked, one eye having a far easier time blinking through her lethargic retelling than the other. Hearing she’d been attacked at the train station on her way here immediately cranked Ransom’s mind into gear, and he looked down at his phone as he quickly searched all of Alice’s social media pages. 

Unsurprisingly, like most her age Alice documented her life between Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. He easily found what her plans were for the weekend, and a location update had been made as soon as she left her college campus, making an easy mark for the time and place of her assault. Ransom’s jaw clenched, his deft fingers flicking along his phone to scroll through a few threads of Alice’s recent comments and conversations. He half listened to Alice tell her family, “I think there were two, maybe three of them? They wore the same jacket. It had like… an emblem on it, or something?”

Ransom’s leer grew deadly as he skimmed a conversation between Alice and _JT1488_ , the comment war between them vicious at best, and was nothing but a string of biting insults at the end. The last comment had his blood boiling, so he switched to a picture he had of a certain prep school jacket before he approached Alice’s bedside. “Did it look like this?” Ransom asked, turning the phone toward her, so she could see the shield-like crest of the school emblem he’d zoomed in on. Marta’s eyes sparked with recognition, as she’d seen that jacket a number of times herself.

Alice stared at it for a few moments, her own brain foggy from drugs and pain, but she eventually (hesitantly) admitted, “Yeah… yeah, I think so.”

“Have you told the cops this yet?” Marta asked urgently. Alice shook her head, and Ransom noticed her suppress a grimace, much to his impress.

“No. The doctors wouldn’t let them question me before,” the youngest Cabrera admitted, “but the nurse told me they’d be back soon to take my statement.” Ransom straightened, and without a word turned to leave the room. Marta’s gaze latched onto him, and she followed him out into the hallway quickly.

“Wait, Ransom – where are you going?!” she yipped, both her hands gripping to his forearm. He turned to face her slowly, his expression frighteningly blank. She didn’t know why his tight frown had her heart pounding, but she suddenly felt like they’d reached a cliff’s edge. His blue eyes searched her worried expression for a moment, and his heart constricted. He couldn’t stop imagining her beaten and broken like Alice, and it had something horrid roaring to life in his core. And what of Alice? He actually liked her – or at the very least, didn’t instantly hate her like he did most every one else. Seeing her in such a state was shockingly hard to stomach.

“I shouldn’t be here when the cops come back,” Ransom said, surprisingly quiet and calm. “It’ll only distract them from their job.” Marta knew he was right, to a degree. As soon as the cops saw him, they’d start interrogating him, despite how he’d been with her all night, and she wasn’t sure either of them had the patience for that in their current state. Still, Marta was reluctant to let go of his arm. “I’ll come back to get you later tonight,” he promised. Anxiety twisted itself around her chest in full force, and her hands squeezed harder to his arm.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she breathed, dark eyes wide and pleading. His lips quirked in a subtle half-smirk.

“I never do anything stupid,” he retorted, almost teasingly. Her expression flattened.

“Don’t do anything you think is smart, but is actually stupid,” she reiterated, and in spite of everything, he actually chuckled. Reaching up with his free hand, he brushed her hair back and tucked it behind her ear affectionately.

“Don’t worry about me, Beautiful. Just worry about your sister,” he deflected softly, his blue eyes briefly lifting to look back into the room. Mama had her eyes on him, but there was a strange intensity to the look in her eye, and a distinct lack of hostility she’d had at Christmas. Ransom didn’t know what to make of it, but he looked back into Marta’s conflicted brown eyes and promised, “I’ll be back soon as I can.” He squeezed her hand, and then dislodged himself from her grip. 

Marta hesitated, had an impulse to call out to him, but she watched him go with a foreboding sense of dread. She pushed it away, however, much as Ransom did his shock. If the cops were half as competent as they thought they were, they already would’ve figured out who did this, but just like with him, he knew “justice” would slip through their fingers. So he let the beast out, and tonight it was out for blood.


	30. The Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just desserts aren't always sweet, and don't always end in praise, as Ransom is about to discover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so fucking hard to write lmao. I don't usually ask for specific feedback, but I tried something different for the first half of this chapter so any thoughts anyone has on it would be great. Is it confusing? Does it convey the suspense I was trying to go for? Let me know what you think.
> 
>  **Specific warnings for this chapter:** Racism, brief gore, murder, minor character death.

_So does this make me a serial killer?_

Ransom stood on a hilltop beneath a usually bushy maple tree. Even without its leaves, the branches were still thick and plenty, draping him in shadow as he looked down at the McMansion his uncle’s wretched family occupied. Racist, spoiled, entitled – they exuded every poor trait peppered across the entire family name, only concentrated and exacerbated. Truthfully, in his eyes, this had been a long time coming, and they’d been making it more and more necessary for a while. He’d been inside just a few hours ago demanding a few answers from his little cousin for his latest transgression:

_”I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jacob snapped, though his voice wavered having Ransom slowly pacing around his room like some caged tiger. Ransom chuckled, the sound light and lacking any real humor. He lifted his phone before his face to recite a series of comments._

_“Your existence is a disgrace to humanity, you ugly bitch. You don’t know who you’re dealing with. I could wipe you out with my pinky finger, dumb anchor baby. You’ll regret engaging me, spic. I’m going to end you, you stupid wetback whore.” Ransom lifted his cold gaze after he read the last comment. Jacob looked at him uncertainly, but did his best to keep his expression neutral. Rolling his eyes, Ransom placated, “Look, I just want a name. We both know you didn’t attack Alice on your own. You wouldn’t get your hands dirty like that… and your arm’d probably break trying to hit someone-“_

_“Asshole,” Jacob hissed, and nearly lurched back on his bed when Ransom took a threatening step toward his little cousin._

_“So, tell me who did your dirty work, Jacob. I’m assuming it was the two morons I saw you walking with that one day I swung by your school. What are their names?”_

_“Why the hell would I tell you?”_

_“Because if you don’t, you’ll be the only one I have to take it out on,” Ransom threatened calmly, a single fist balling at his side. “Do you really want to test me?” he asked a moment later. Jacob parted his lips, but thought better of speaking as he stared into his cousin’s cold glare. Nodding, Ransom hammered the point home by grabbing Jacob’s shirt collar and hauling him up. He barely flexed his muscles to yank the younger male across the room and shove him up against his desk. “Write them down.”_

Of course, it wasn’t the _only_ reason he’d stopped inside. On his way out from extracting information from his cousin, he’d stopped in his uncle’s room to link their security system to his phone and change the password so he could remotely log in. As he watched the house, the darkened windows suddenly lit with a brief, blinding flash. Impressed he could hardly hear a whisper of what he knew was going on inside, he watched a second spark flicker through the window and casually wondered on his initial question; _What would my motive be? Death by proxy?_

Amused by the thought, he nearly snorted. It fit, he supposed. Killing Fran had been impulse, both a protective measure for himself and a last ditch attempt to frame Marta. It had also been reckless and stupid, and almost stuck to him more than anything else he’d done. Even though he’d used Marta’s morphine to try and mimic what he’d wanted to be _her_ MO, for once in his life he’d gotten his hands dirty and almost paid the price. It wasn’t ideal, and since it had proven a greater risk, he went back to the mastery of his initial method. 

_Whatever,_ he thought derisively, abandoning the morbid train of thought as a third flash lit up a different household window, where he knew Jacob’s bedroom was. Icy eyes flickered up and down the street to see if any attention had been drawn to his uncle’s house, but the night remained silent and still. His gaze returned to the home, jaw clenching as he thought back a few days, to what had initially lead to the conception of this vengeful path.

_While Marta was out to lunch with her mother, Ransom stopped by the bar he knew Walt frequented in his unemployment. He found the man hunched over the bar counter, a glass of scotch resting before him as he stared abysmally at it. Wordlessly, Ransom slipped onto a stool beside him, and bowed his arms over the table in a mockery of Walt’s position. It took him a moment to register the presence beside him was leering, and when he looked up to see his nephew, Walt groaned._

_“What the hell are you doing here?” he griped, before he picked up the rest of his shot and knocked it back in one gulp._

_“I could ask you the same thing, but I think I like the defeated look of alcoholism and unemployment enough to not care too much.”_

_“Fuck you.” Ransom chuckled silently, leaning more heavily on one elbow as he turned to face his uncle, head tipped with an arrogant sort of curiosity. His eyes caught the bartender, and he waved the young woman over to pour another shot for Walt._

_Once she wandered off again, Ransom peered at his uncle and said, “I thought I told you to stay away from Marta.”_

_“I have,” Walt practically whined. Ransom refrained from rolling his eyes._

_“That voicemail you left suggested otherwise.” Walt scoffed as he grabbed his replenished shot._

_“It’s the least of what that bitch deserves,” he grumbled under his breath while bringing the glass to his lips. Frowning, Ransom casually eyed the rest of the bar, trying to assess if anyone would blink an eye should he strike his uncle. He remained still, however, calculating their interaction while Walt glugged back his next shot. He called for another, his uncle too ignorant to care about why Ransom was shoveling alcohol down his throat. “You’re paying for this, right?” he slurred finally, nudging his shot forward to call Ransom’s attention._

_He merely rolled his eyes, which Walt took as answer enough to down the next drink. It didn’t take long for Walt to tip toward the cusp of blacked out, which was when Ransom prompted, “So what are you planning to do to Marta?” Walt chuckled weakly, damn near hiccupping at the end._

_“Like I’d tell you, now that you’re practically her bitch,” he sneered, leering at Ransom disapprovingly. Ransom rolled his eyes._

_“Who you obviously don’t take seriously, so what do you care? Since when do you pass up an opportunity to gloat?” he jibed passively, fingers rubbing together to keep his boiling rage in check. Walt hummed, and chuckled groggily. Swallowing down bile, Ransom played a card he hated and catered to Walt’s fragile ego further. “And… maybe I’m starting to see you guys might have something to this lawsuit.”_

_“Oh – oh yeah?” Walt chuckled, bobbing atop his seat a little as his weight started to sway. “Finally started to get smart, did you?”_

_“Sure, but you’re not. Why keep threatening Marta with that in the works?” At Ransom’s question, Walt scoffed, and seemed to finally forget who he was talking to. He faded into his own mind, his own lingering anger, and shook his head resolutely._

_“When I read that article, I got so mad I could’ve killed her. I wanted to,” he mumbled absently, before a breathy scoff left him. He tipped toward Ransom without looking at him as he thoughtlessly shared, “I bought a gun, you know. Not for her, originally, but – then I got thinking maybe I could scare her into giving me some money. She’s clearly got enough now.” He rolled his eyes and tried to tip the last drops of scotch from his glass into his mouth. Fruitless as his life, he licked his parched lips and tipped forward to bemoan, “She took everything from us. From me.”_

_Venom burned in Ransom’s glare, his fists flexing angrily, but he said nothing. He slipped out of his seat and left the bar, forgotten by his uncle, who tipped over the counter to nod off in his chair._

Ransom still felt the anger he’d felt during that confession boil in his veins now. He’d wanted to kill Walt then and there, and a million different scenarios ran through his head. Bludgeoning his face open with the bar counter, cramming the shot glass down his throat, taking him home and letting his car exhaust fume up the garage, using his own gun to mock a suicide. And then it hit him, just like the image of his grandfather’s OD had, and the perfect proxy along with it.

_I bought a gun, you know. Not for her, originally._

Ransom knew who the gun was likely bought for, and the throwaway comment had more implications than it seemed. He watched now as the hit man left his crime scene, dressed in all black with a thick beanie tugged firmly down his baldhead. Ransom had shut the security cameras off an hour ago through the access he’d given himself on his phone earlier. Now, he deleted the evidence of his involvement off his phone, and idly watched Larry Cru’s lackey saunter off into the night, until nothing was left but the still house.

_He’d driven further into Boston right after his impromptu meeting with Walt, taking full advantage of Marta’s absence as he always did, toward an area of the city run down and bought out. Everyone who was anyone knew where Larry Cru conducted his business. He had a whole chain of small shops from a Laundromat, to a gym, to a small market that advertised “fresh seafood” at the back of it. Ransom had never been to the run down little strip, but he parked outside it and strolled into the Laundromat with an office in the back like he’d been there a dozen times before._

_A group of men sat inside, three lounging in chairs, while one sat atop the edge of a desk as he counted through a stack of cash. One lone soul stood against the wall, his hard eyes capped by a thick beanie he wore over his baldhead. They all looked at Ransom, their stares a mixture of passive intrigue and boredom. Larry Cru sat behind the thick desk, and tipped back in his chair to regard the intruder._

_“Can I help you?” he asked, his salt and pepper hair matching the stubble growing thicker on his narrow jaw. His dark eyes looked at Ransom expectantly, calloused fingers tapping against his desk impatiently as the man perched beside him nudged his glasses up his thick nose and turned his attention back to his cash counting._

_“I have a proposition for you.”_

_“Oh yeah?” Larry mused, eyes raking over Ransom’s expensive clothes. Pursing his lips, he goaded, “Do tell.”_

_“I hear Walter Thrombey owes you money, and that you may or may not have put a bullet in his leg to make a point,” Ransom said plainly, noting the tension that sprang through the room._

_“That right?” Larry growled carefully, before he glanced toward his associates and nodded his head. The door to the office closed, and the burly man standing against the wall suddenly moved toward Ransom. “What’s it to you?” Ransom glanced around, taking stock of the rising hostility, and decided to be blunt._

_“Look, you want your money. I want him dead. Way I see it, I make a deal with you – pay you back what he owes, but you still get to make an example of him for what happens when people don’t pay you back – it’s a win, win for us both.” They laughed at him, which he wasn’t altogether surprised with, nor was he surprised when Larry’s hit man suddenly shoved him up against the wall, one beefy fist wrapped in Ransom’s coat while they other held a knife up toward his face in threat._

_“Oh, I see,” Larry cooed, amused with Ransom suddenly. “You’re a rich white boy who thinks you’re a big tough man, huh?” His jaw flexed, but he looked from Larry to the blunt tool suddenly running a rough palm along his torso, checking for a wire Ransom suspected. He didn’t move, kept his expression as dull and cold as they men had stared at him upon entering._

_“No,” he finally said evenly, even as the knife tipped too close to his skin and the thug’s hand squeezed around his thigh and tugged at his belt to ensure no weapons were stashed either. When Larry’s muscle man finally stopped feeling him up (though his hand remained curled around Ransom’s collar and knife uncomfortably close to his skin), he said, “But I have money, and a desire to have Walt out of my hair.” Larry’s eyes narrowed on him for a moment, before he finally snapped his fingers and pointed toward Ransom’s face._

_“That’s where I recognize you from. You’re that schmuck from the news stories. Hugh “Ransom” Drysale.” He cackled. “Do you even have the kind of money Walt owes? You don’t even know the amount.”_

_“I have enough,” Ransom insisted._

_“Then hand it over.”_

_“Not so fast. I have another condition.”_

_“Let me guess… this is a one time deal, and me and mine stay away from you and yours after it’s over?”_

_“Pretty much.”_

_“Well, Mister Drysdale. Why don’t you take a seat, and let’s talk business.”_

So he’d made a deal, devil to devil. It had been a tentative agreement at first, Walt’s life for the loan paid in full, plus a little interest to outbid the stall Walt had apparently negotiated previously (Ransom assumed his mother was the pocket backing that). Ransom still had a window to back out, which he’d heavily considered over the next few days as Marta investigated a restraining order, and he waited to hear if Benoit had any other pressures to encourage his family to steer clear.

And then they’d been called to the hospital, and Ransom made the call the second he left. He’d ditched the burner phone immediately, delivered half the money he’d preemptively withdrawn from his overseas account to a designated PO box, and went to visit Jacob. With his friends’ names stuffed in his pocket, he’d taken his perch on the hilltop in the distance and waited, turned the home’s security cameras off an hour before the hit, and now waited again.

“Mister Drysdale.” Ransom twisted around to face the money counter, his circular glasses neatly balanced on his big nose. Thin lips curved into a smile, the black overcoat covering the entirety of his thin build helping him blend in with their shadowy meeting place. He stepped closer to Ransom, and took his hands out of his pockets to bring up his phone. “Proof of purchase,” he offered, holding the phone out to scroll through three simple photographs.

Even Ransom realized how fucked up his passive observance of his family’s bullet-blown, bloodied up faces was. He nodded curtly, satisfied with the murder-suicide story the pictures painted. The bookie stowed his phone and inquired, “Now, the rest of the money?” Ransom kicked his shoe aside, knocking into the duffel bag he had resting beneath the tree. The man knelt and unzipped it briefly to check the bundles of money stashed within.

Satisfied himself, he closed it and pulled it over his shoulder before he lifted. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mister Drysdale,” he said cordially in parting, turning away as the peaceful neighborhood suddenly rumbled. Startling a fraction, Ransom whipped around, eyes widening at the explosive flames raging up from the entirety of the McMansion’s structure. His lips twitched, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at the beauty of the bright orange fire, but practicality sobered him. 

As he twisted away and walked down the hill to head toward his car, he morbidly thought, _One down, two to go._

~*~

When Ransom returned to the hospital, he found Marta curled up in an armchair, her cheek precariously propped against one hand as she slept. Her mother sat in another chair, doing much of the same, though her arms were crossed over her chest and head tipped back against the wall. Between them, Alice softly snored as she slept through the worst of her injuries. He almost didn’t want to disturb them.

Silently, he approached Marta and brushed a finger along her arm. She startled out of the light slumber she’d been in, lips parted until she looked up at him. Then, she smiled, her eyes blinking hazily. He mimicked her smile and held out the tall Starbucks coffee he’d gotten her on his route back.

“Thanks,” she croaked, clearing her throat quietly as she accepted the cup. Sitting up straight, she arched her back and tipped her neck in a weak effort to stretch. The twitch in her expression betrayed the kinks she’d developed in her sleep.

“We should go,” Ransom encouraged quietly. Marta glanced at her mother and sister, reluctance written all over her face. Before she could protest, he pointed out, “You could use some sleep in a bed. Does you no good to run yourself ragged here, and we can bring some stuff with us in the morning for them both. Clothes, or food…. whatever you want.” She considered his proposal for a moment, before she sighed and nodded tiredly.

“Alright,” she murmured, lifting up from her seat gingerly. She went to her mother, quietly waking her up to share in Spanish they were leaving for now, but would be back in the morning. Her mother nodded, too tired to argue, and Marta joined Ransom at the door. He set his hand between her shoulders, guiding her in front of him as they walked through the hospital halls. She smiled at him appreciatively, too tired to care about how quiet he was.

The February air sparked some life into her as they approached the car, her body shivering as the chilly night bit at her beneath her coat. When Ransom turned his car on, she spared a glance at the clock and almost balked at the time. Almost 2:30am – it begged the question, “Where were you?” As Ransom drove onto the empty night street, he cast a quick glance toward Marta’s inquisitive gaze, her expression carefully soft.

“I went to see Jacob to get the names of his friends who beat up Alice,” he answered quietly, offering the kindest light of the truth and nothing more. “Then I went for a drive for awhile. Got you some coffee before coming back.” Remembering the cup, Marta finally brought it up to her lips and hummed appreciatively at the rich taste.

“So you know who did this to her,” she confirmed slowly, lowering the warm cup into her lap.

“Hmm.”

“We should give them to the cops.”

“Sure.” They fell silent. Marta didn’t question his agreeable nature, and she didn’t have the strength to fret over what he might’ve done to Jacob to get the information. Her mind numbly contemplated the escalated aggression the youngest Thrombey had exhibited, but she couldn’t make sense of it. It made her wonder if they should’ve reported his bombings from so many months ago, made her want to ask Ransom what he thought on all this – being slightly unhinged himself – but she didn’t want to jump down a rabbit hole that’d only make her feel worse in the long run. She just tipped her head toward the window and dozed until they arrived back at the mansion.

Only, the second she walked in, her sleepiness vacated her for a nervous restlessness. “I don’t want to go to bed,” Marta said as they walked through the foyer. Ransom’s fist flexed, his jaw locking briefly as he considered what this might mean… what it might cause. He hadn’t been able to stop playing out scenarios since he’d driven back toward the hospital, and the possibilities left him trailing her cautiously now.

“You should though,” he told her quietly, “if you try, I’m sure you could fall asleep.”

“No, I can’t. If I close my eyes now, all I’ll see is Alice’s face-“ she stopped abruptly and shook her head. Ransom sighed, relenting as he shed his coat and tossed it onto the coat hanger. They headed into the living room and settled down to watch some TV. Ransom chose a late night sitcom for them to further numb their brains with, Marta firmly tucked to his side and his arm resting over her. His fingers flexed slowly, toying with strands of her ebony hair as his mind wandered elsewhere.

It was only a matter of time, and it came sooner than later.

When Ransom went to the bathroom, Marta took the remote during the commercial break and mindlessly flipped through channels. She only made it a few stations down before the commotion of a late night house fire had her pausing. She blinked dumbly, not fully registering the headline or the punctuated words of the reporter. She just watched the flames and the firefighters uselessly trying to tame the blaze, and listened to the buzz of a news helicopter behind the bundled-up newswoman’s words.

_”Tragedy strikes again in the Thrombey legacy, with Harlan’s youngest son Walter Thrombey the victim of, at the very least, a destructive house fire. Authorities have yet to discover if anyone was inside the household at the time the fire caught, but no one knows the whereabouts of Mister Thrombey or his family yet-“_

The words numbed from Marta’s mind again as she stared wide-eyed at the TV screen. She felt Ransom’s presence return more than anything, like an ominous shadow overtaking her. “Did you do this?” she asked hollowly, unsure if she was ready for the answer.

“No. Jacob was alive when I left the house earlier,” Ransom answered simply, and just as dully. Marta shifted in her seat to look over her shoulder at him, her eyes glazed with wary skepticism. She searched him for a long moment.

“You’re lying,” she decided, a rough edge to her accent – either from fatigue or a surge of emotion, Ransom couldn’t tell. He just quirked an eyebrow derisively.

“Am I?” His cool, challenging tone had her heart pounding. He took a step toward the couch, and she flinched up to her feet, fists balled at her sides defensively. His eyes narrowed. “Marta,” he growled in warning, but her emotions were already swelling. Too much had happened in the span of a handful of hours. She’d stuffed her fear and pain down for the sake of others, she’d soldiered on in front of Alice and Mama. But here, in front of Ransom, her calm cracked.

“I knew you were going to do something stupid,” she breathed, dazed. “I should’ve stopped you from leaving. I should’ve-“

“Marta,” Ransom barked again, rounding the couch to get to her. She reflexively moved around the other side, keeping the furniture between them and further enraging the tense man. “It’s not what you think,” he pleaded, trying to calm her before she had a fit. Her dark eyes locked onto him.

“But you _did_ have something to do with this,” she pressed, and watched his jaw lock. She didn’t need more of an answer than that. “Oh my God.” A hysterical, flabbergasted laugh bubbled up from her as she backed away. She felt dizzy, and started to ramble as she mindlessly looked for an escape; “I can’t believe this. I’m so stupid. Everyone - _everyone_ warned me about you, and I just – I fell for your bullshit _again!”_

“It’s not like that, let me explain!” Ransom demanded, his hand finally wrapping around her shoulder. She whirled around and slapped his arm off her, and while he released her for the moment, he didn’t back away. He just looked into her glower and quietly said, “I did what I had to, to keep you safe.”

“Don’t! Don’t you _dare_ put this on me,” she snapped, her outrage muddled with hurt and fear – she didn’t even know for what anymore. She felt betrayed, by him and also by her own stupid heart. It left her numb to Ransom’s vehement defense.

“Walt was thinking of killing you! And Jacob had your sister assaulted for the fun of it. I warned them what would happen if they kept trying to fuck with you, and I wasn’t going to give either of them another chance to try,” he seethed, chest heaving from his lingering fury and desperation for Marta to understand. Taking a deep breath, he implored again, “But I’m not the one who did that.” He pointed behind him, toward the TV, and Marta realized what he meant.

“You had someone else do your dirty work,” she said carefully, anger boiling as she darkly added, “just like you did with me.” His eyes widened a fraction, and he had the decency – or maybe the audacity – to look properly stunned. She sneered at him, shaking her head, before she whirled on her heels and marched off again. When he grabbed her a second time, she whipped around and struck his thigh – not his groin or a cheap hit to the balls, but a trigger point in his quadriceps that immediately had his leg buckling and breath wheezing with pain.

“Marta, wait!” he croaked, hands uselessly gripped to his leg as pain spasmed through his leg. Tears blurred his vision as she raced away, and worsened when he forced himself to his feet. His leg throbbed as he gimped forward a step, a furious growl escaping him until he clenched his jaw shut and painfully moved after her. She had her keys, and half a mind to let the dogs in from outside to keep Ransom preoccupied while she fled from him, but the front door was closer.

Déjà vu was a cruel mistress, though this time she had the door unlocked and pried open when his arms engulfed her. She shrieked, the sound instantly muffled when a damp cloth smothered her mouth and nose. Screaming harder, she kicked wildly as he lifted her up, holding her still as a familiar tang overwhelmed her throat. “I’m sorry, Beautiful,” Ransom murmured regrettably. “I didn’t want it to have to come to this, but you’re not giving me much of a choice. I can’t let you ruin this, either.”

She was already out, and his shoulders deflated a little as he eased her up into his arms. His crystal blue eyes flickered over her slumbering face, before he adjusted her weight and carried her out to his car. He wrapped a blanket around her before he hastily packed a bag for them and threw it into the passenger seat beside him, and then he circled his beamer out of the driveway and raced off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems like we're back where we started, doesn't it? :/ Take What You Want by Post Malone is how Marta feels about Ransom right now. If this were a movie or TV show, I imagine that song starting to play when he knocks her out.
> 
> We probably have 3, maybe 4 chapters left of this now :O So get ready for a few more chapters of angst. Stay with me and I promise a satisfying ending though. I'm too into closure and happy endings not to guarantee it. <3 As always, thank you so much for following this story.


	31. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marta and Ransom have to work through the fallout of his actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: Aggro, angry sex lol.

Marta woke with a start. Her heart pounded, chest heaving over heavy breaths. The dream she’d had of some deformed beast capturing her and locking her away in a dungeon wasn’t _entirely_ inaccurate, although this time was incredibly different than the last. She noticed immediately as she slowly pushed herself into a seat atop the plush blue sofa she was laid out on. A fuzzy blanket pooled atop her lap from where it slipped off her lifting torso. The thick, delectable scent of bacon filled the air, making her mouth water and her eardrums crackle from the sound of popping fat and oil. 

Humming, she shifted on the couch so her legs could touch the carpeted floor and smoothed a hand over her eyes to block out the pale light of a cloudy morning, filtering in through the living room windows. “Where are we?” she called, knowing Ransom was near. She’d snuck a peek at his broad shoulders over the half-wall counter top separating the modest kitchen from the furbished living room she was in.

“A hunting cabin that belonged to my Uncle Neil,” he shared, and she was a little too groggy to be stunned. He seemed to anticipate what her questions would be, however, as he diverted some attention from the breakfast he was making to explain, “This was the only item in his will that went to someone else. He knew Joni wouldn’t need a place like this, and I think this was his little getaway from her anyway, so he gave it to my grandfather. Harlan didn’t need a place like this either, though, so he attached it to my trust fund and gave it to me when I was twenty-one.”

She heard plates and utensils clatter against one another as he transferred the food onto eating-ware, and managed to finally glance up at him as he carried on in a quiet, contemplative tone, “The summer I interned for him… this is where he took me. I was sixteen. I think he took me here to try and instill some kind of reflection in me or something, before my college applications started. And it was just the two of us for the whole summer, working on theories and fact-checking for his books.” 

He nearly cracked a smile, but it faded quickly as he moved out of the kitchen with two plates in hand. He set them atop the simple 4-chaired dining table that sat on the other side of the kitchen’s half-wall. Once his fingers slipped from the plates, he paused and glanced around the cabin; the scheme of light blues, white, and tan wood gave the cabin more of a beach feel than hunting. It didn’t really suit Ransom’s tastes, from what Marta knew of him, which left her wondering after Neil. Harlan had only spoken of him a few fleeting times. The dead had no place in Harlan’s life, unless they were murders he painted across the pages of his books. 

“I haven’t really come up here since I inherited this place,” Ransom admitted, answering one of Marta’s unspoken curiosities. After a beat, his glare hardened as he looked at her and added, “But no one’s gonna come looking for us here.” Frowning, she stared at him until he shuffled off to grab them both a drink, and she turned away to look out the cabin windows and realized where his confidence came from.

A massive forest stretched for as far as her eye could see, the only glimpse of civility being Ransom’s beamer parked just outside, and the quaint walls surrounding them. She couldn’t even make out the road that had lead them here, let alone a path that might bring her back to a population. She didn’t even know if they were still in Massachusetts, though she suspected they likely were somewhere within the state by the familiarity of the trees. She frowned profusely as she studied the evergreens and deciduous trees without their leaves expanding as far across the horizon as she could see.

“Why didn’t you take me here the first time?” Marta asked, morbidly curious as their seclusion sunk into her bones. She didn’t even bother looking for her phone, knowing Ransom had long since taken it, if he hadn’t left it behind altogether.

“Because you probably would’ve been an idiot and tried to run away, and I didn’t feel like stalking you through the woods,” Ransom responded, the heavy thud of glass against the wooden table only further making that sound like an accusation. Her jaw locked. She hated how he made her sound like the bad guy when he was in a mood. “Besides, I thought the familiarity of granddad’s place would help in the long run.” The disturbing practicality of that statement finally drew her gaze back to him, but once she finally took notice of him, she paused. 

He looked utterly disheveled. 

His usually perfectly combed locks were in spikes of disarray, like he’d been tugging on the tousled strands until they became as chaotic as the mind that laid beneath. His bright blue eyes were uncharacteristically dull and cloudy, and red-rimmed from a lack of sleep – or maybe his barely contained distress. Even through his usually stony expression, she could see the evidence in his clenched jaw and the irritable furrow of his brow.

The look tugged at her heart far more than she wanted in that moment. It was more than just her compulsion to soothe someone in distress, and she hated how potent her desire to go to him remained. Her fingers pinched around the sleeve of her gray sweater to help ground her insane feelings, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Have you slept at all?”

“No, I had shit to do before you woke up. Are you going to come and eat?” he retorted, clipped and crabby. She puffed a breath out her flaring nostrils, willing herself not to move. She’d noticed how he’d set the table, putting one plate at an end and the other at a side placement so they’d have to sit next to each other. The table wasn’t very big overall, but it was the principle that mattered. He picked up his fork, and then looked up at her pointedly. They glared each other down for a moment, before Marta finally relented. She didn’t uncross her arms until she reached the seat Ransom had left her.

His eyes flickered over her briefly as she stiffly took her seat. It took a moment for her to reach for a utensil, and she sat there for several moments before she could will herself to take a bite of the simple eggs, toast, and bacon breakfast before her. They ate in tense silence for a long time. Ransom chewed with all the agitation he felt, fighting not to fidget beside Marta’s feigned ignorance. His icy eyes finally landed on her again, his glare willing her to break her silence. 

When she didn’t, he groused, “Aren’t you going to say something?” Marta shifted in her seat slightly, but kept her focus on her breakfast. She’d resorted to pushing around the remaining bits of her scrambled eggs.

“What would you like me to say?” she asked quietly, brows lifting wearily. All the fight she’d had seeing that house fire had vanished upon waking, and now she just felt drained and dreary. Resigned to the truth she’d ignored for far too long. Ransom scoffed, hand waving beside his head before his fingers curled around the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white.

“I don’t know,” he growled, shaking his head and trying not to succumb to the sting of panic swelling in his chest. He kept his gaze steady and sharp on Marta as he pointed out, “You had several choice things to say to me last time. I expected you to go all preachy on me like you did back at granddad’s mansion.”

“I guess I just don’t see the point now,” she admitted in that same placid tone. Ransom grit his teeth together, her strange, sudden calm setting him more on edge than her anger would’ve. Anger he was prepared for. This he was not. He shifted uncomfortably and looked over her jaded expression.

“I had to.” He almost sounded like a petulant child, and she had to snap her teeth into a bite of bacon to keep from rolling her eyes.

“You said that already,” she muttered dully, which finally had his blood boiling.

“What would you have had me done?” he demanded, thudding his fist against the table. “Let them get away with the shit they were pulling?” Blowing a terse breath out her nostrils, Marta finally met his gaze. She didn’t know what to make of him for a moment, or herself as she realized she was about to entertain this absurd discussion over the potential necessity for murder.

“You could’ve gone to the cops like you made me do for Walt’s restraining order,” she pointed out hollowly. Ransom scoffed at her, lips twitching toward a cold, vicious smile.

“Yeah, that was before I found out he had a gun he was thinking of using on you, and your sister ended up in the hospital,” he growled. Shaking his head, he snapped, “You think this would’ve turned out any other way than it did with me? With them actually paying some kind of penance? They would’ve walked away with a slap on the wrist, _if that_.” He paused there to take a breath, before he vehemently reminded, “And I didn’t kill Walt, I just made sure the hole he already dug himself got covered.”

Marta willingly took the bait this time and asked, “How?”

“Larry Cru. Walt had a debt he aimed to collect on one way or another. I just made it so he could collect his debt and make an example of Walt at the same time,” Ransom explained ominously. Then, he scoffed. “I practically emptied my savings to protect you. You could be grateful.”

“ _Excuse_ me?!” Marta gaped at him, appalled at his audacity. Ransom leered at her, jaw clenching with a similar level of irritation. 

“What part of ‘Walt wanted you dead’ did you not understand?” he snarled darkly. His fingers rubbed together slowly as he recounted what he’d learned during his meeting with Larry Cru. “My mom, bless her black soul, managed to convince good ol’ Larry to wait until our trial to get his paid dues. He told me she made it sound like the payout would be worth the wait… I think she may have indirectly implied she’d lend her real estate expertise to him for future projects out of gratitude.” 

Ransom shook his head and rolled his eyes, his hand clenching into an irritable fist thinking of his mother’s ‘persuasive’ ways. “Knowing my mom though, manipulative bitch that she is, she’s not likely to follow through. I told him as much when I met him, and _he_ told me after your article about Netflix released, Walt wasn’t keen on waiting that long anyway. He went to Larry with a proposition. You.”

“What do you mean ‘me’?”

“I mean he went to Larry asking if there was a way they’d accept _you_ to pay off his debt. Young, oblivious little heiress you are, and after all you’ve been through, you’d be a perfect target for coercion,” Ransom taunted. Marta felt a prickle of offense bubble up her gut, but he dropped his goading façade quickly. “Of course, Larry laughed in his face, and told Walt if he wanted to use you so bad, he could do it himself. And that’s when Walt started thinking the gun he bought to protect himself from Larry could be used on you, scare you into giving him the money he needed, and then maybe…” when he trailed off, he lazily let his hand tip forward and fired off a two-fingered gun at her.

“How could you know that?” Marta asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

“I know my family,” Ransom responded, and when Marta scoffed at him, he confessed, “and I stopped to see him before I went to Larry. I told you, pushing you toward a restraining order was before I knew what he was thinking.” Pausing a moment, he shifted in his seat uncomfortably, eyes falling to the table before he quietly added, “And before the hospital.” Marta’s brows knit uncertainly, her dark eyes searching his troubled expression. He seemed genuinely disturbed by Alice’s hospitalization. Under the circumstances, she wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

And maybe she ignored how her heart fluttered.

Straightening in her seat, she let out a breath and tipped over her plate again. “I still think you could’ve gone to the police, had them handle it instead of _murdering_ again,” she grumbled, mostly to herself this time, but Ransom still sneered. 

“Jesus Christ, Marta. Have you learned nothing?” he demanded, shaking his head as he stared her down. He waited until she met his piercing gaze before he reminded, “The law doesn’t apply to men like me, or like my uncle and his neo-Nazi family.” She swallowed, too polite to agree, but incapable of arguing. After a moment, she shook her head, but Ransom went on, “And the cops never would’ve found me out in the first place without Blanc, so do you really have any faith in them?” It was Marta’s turn to scoff, and she bowed forward to smother her face with her hands for a moment.

“Yeah, you had it all figured out then, huh?” she mocked after swiping her hands down her face in exasperation. Cheeks reddened both from the pressure and her discombobulated emotions, she looked at Ransom. “Just like you do now. You always do… except that you don’t. You always miss something. There’s always a hole in your plans.” _A donut hole,_ she thought, and didn’t dare say. Ransom’s jaw still locked, teeth gnashing.

“That’s why this time I worked with a professional,” he muttered darkly. His arrogance even now had Marta rolling her eyes, head shaking as she tipped back in her chair.

“God damn it, Ransom! You’re still playing life like a game. Like there aren’t consequences to your actions, but there _are_!” Marta bellowed at him, before she took a breath and curtly added, “and there always have been.” Ransom shot up from his chair and gripped the back of Marta’s to twist her to face him. He ended up pressing her seat back onto its hind legs between the force of his shove and the resistance of the plush carpet beneath their feet. Unperturbed, Ransom held her there as he loomed over her, silently enjoying the way she startled and gripped to his sweater to keep her suddenly precarious balance.

“You think I don’t know that?” he growled, icy eyes boring into her startled doe look. “I’m well aware my actions have consequences. You and I just have different elements of focus in this equation. And I’d rather have you look at me like that, than watch you get killed.” Speechless, Marta blinked up at him. She knew she should be horrified. A part of her _was_ disturbed to learn Ransom was still fully capable of facilitating murder. It certainly made it seem implausible he could be “tamed” at all, which she should’ve known about the psychopath to begin with.

The scariest aspect of the whole thing though was how much she didn’t want to care, how fear was the furthest thing from her mind as he loomed closer. 

Her body betrayed her, prickling to life beneath her clothes with his proximity and the intensity in his eyes. Her breath hitched, eyes dilating as her knuckles brushed against his cut abdomen where her fingers were curled in his shirt. Her back almost arched toward him, longing bubbling up her gut and making her head grow foggy. She could smell wafts of his warm, spicy scent, and her mouth watered for him and the promise of devotion and protection he offered, dark as it may have been. 

It seemed even death couldn’t scrub her desire for him out now, and she didn’t know what to do with that yet. Ransom smirked as she contemplated his profound, borderline supernatural effect on her, their gazes locked in a heated stalemate. “You knew what I was when this all started, Marta, so don’t act all high and mighty on me now. I’d say you even call me ‘Beast’ affectionately,” he murmured, hand skimming up the outside of her leg until his fingers could curl around her hip. “I suppose that means I’ve won our little game.”

“You asshole,” she breathed, shaking her head at his deplorable taunting.

“Oh, don’t act like it’s all bad for you,” he chastised back, fingers slipping beneath her sweater to skim along her soft skin. He caressed up her side and brushed his thumb along the curve of her rib, eliciting goose bumps along her flesh. Her skin tingled, her nipples budding beneath her bra to beg for his electrifying touch. She throbbed for him, her cunt suddenly hot and aching to be filled. Her back arched in obvious want, bringing a wicked smile to Ransom’s face.

“Ransom, st-” she meant to say _stop teasing me_ , but she didn’t finish before his lips crushed to hers, arm winding behind her back as he lifted her from the chair. It toppled to the ground when he took his hand off it to instead tangle his fingers in her hair. Her legs coiled around his waist, fingers biting into his shoulder and neck as their lips mashed together messily, full of tongue and teeth. A particularly sharp nip of her teeth against his bottom lip had him gasping and lurching his head back.

“God, Beautiful,” he panted, lips red and slick from the heated, borderline angry make out. He chuckled, eyes glazing with admiration as he said, “You might just have some devil in you, too.” In response, she tugged harshly at the thick strands of chocolate at the back of his crown, earning her another hiss.

“The only devil in me is you,” she growled, her frustration with him only bringing an amused smile to Ransom’s lips. Arms bound around her petite figure, he pulled her flush against him and ground his bulging cock against the crest of her legs, their jeans a maddening barrier between their throbbing flesh.

“Not yet,” he flirted huskily, and she might’ve rolled her eyes at the porn-worthy line if he hadn’t chosen that moment to dump them onto the couch. She groaned as his thick build compressed her to the cushions, the hard planes of his body rocking a rabid desire through her as he rolled his hips into her. His teeth scraped against her jawline, hands greedily diving up her sweater to palm at her breasts. Marta’s breath rattled, head dizzy with lust and veins boiling with her lingering agitation.

Their lips crashed together in another bruising kiss, the same ferocity driving their tongues to lash and teeth to scrape reddening flesh. He shoved her sweater up and bit his teeth into the soft curve of her side. She cried out, body writhing beneath the firm grasp he had on her hips and the punishing suckle his lips had around the edge of her rib. The motion helped her tug her sweater up her arms to toss it away, and she snarled out his name as her fingers dove into his hair and yanked. Groaning, he lifted up to help Marta out of her bra so his sinful lips could befall her plump breasts.

He licked up the lower curve of her right breast until his lips could wrap around her nipple, teeth immediately scraping over the budded peak. Yelping, Marta bucked against him wildly, the gentle kneading of his other hand in conjunction to the sharp pierce of his teeth driving her mad. She clawed at the back of his sweater, dragging the material up until his smooth flesh could be subjected to the vicious drag of her nails. She painted angry red lines against the pale skin of his shoulders, and he damn near whimpered against her chest as need throbbed through his cock.

Breathless, he drew back long enough to rip the frayed sweater off and toss it to the ground. Marta’s fingers groped at his fly, and he would’ve laughed if he weren’t just as desperate to get her out of her pants. Once the rest of their clothes were hastily yanked off, Marta sat up and nipped Ransom’s sharp collarbone. Her nails pressed into his oblique and dragged more red lines toward his hip while she languidly stroked his cock, which jolted excitably and oozed a bead of precome. He couldn’t catch his breath, one hand fisted against the back of the couch while the other cupped around her center, fingers digging into her folds to press against her clit and dip into her dewy entrance.

Despite the awkward angle, his fingers moved deftly, two fingers plunging into her wet walls deeper with each rock of his hand. It wasn’t nearly enough stimulation for Marta, however, whom bucked against Ransom’s hand to increase the friction against her clit impatiently. “Just fucking do it already!” she finally barked.

“Christ, Marta,” he groaned in response, pushing her down to the cushions. Wrapping one arm beneath her leg, he folded it up toward the couch to stretch her slit open for him. Gripping his cock steady, he pressed into her in one fluid motion, and took a moment to marvel at how she flexed and seeped around him, almost unforgivingly. The abrupt onslaught on her body was almost too much for her to handle though, had her crying out while her muscles spasmed in protest of the way they were suddenly stretched. It didn’t seem to matter how many times they had sex; the first few moments of connection always remained tense. 

He rocked his hips before she was fully ready, but his cock glided within her beautifully. Another sharp whine escaped her when he bucked again, the hard, slow pace forcing her focus on each drag of his thick cock – on the lull, and heat, and pressure of being filled, and then emptied. Her breath rattled in anticipation for each time their hips slapped together and his bulbous head plunged deep within her. Her strained cries grew into languid, wanton moans, and her one free leg squeezed against his hip to feel his own muscles constrict with each vigorous thrust. 

“Harder,” Marta demanded, her lust-blown eyes dark with something Ransom couldn’t place. “Come on, give it to me,” she encouraged, before she used her grip on his bicep and shoulder to pull her up enough that her lips could latch around his racing pulse. She suckled for a brief, disarming moment before she dipped toward the base of his neck and sunk her teeth into him. _Hard_. 

He let out a scream at the unexpected pain, hand reflexively twisting into her hair to yank her off his neck. She released him the second she felt his grip so as to not break his skin, but a thin, vibrant red line remained imprinted in his neck once he jerked her head back down to the couch. When that didn’t immediately spur him on, she slapped him across the cheek, momentarily stunning them both. Her lips parted, and she almost apologized when Ransom suddenly snapped. His hands bound around her wrists and pinned them above her head as his weight crushed in on her. 

“You want it that bad? _Fine,”_ he snarled in her ear. A shudder trailed down her spine before his hips snapped into her, the force of his thrust making her go rigid. His pace became punishing as he rammed into her, and his body remained closely pressed above her so she couldn’t writhe very far. She was trapped in every way possible, her only freedom to scream out her pleasure and heartache, until Ransom took that too when his lips captured hers in a heated kiss. It didn’t last long, his desire to repay her for the mark now left at the indent of neck and shoulder inescapable. 

At some point, he let her hands go to grope her hips for better leverage as his cock continued to drill through her slippery walls. Both slicked with sweat and glistening as fiery passion consumed them, burned them up from the inside out, Marta started greedily painting red claw marks down his bulging arms and across his chest again. A sick amazement glazed her eyes with the way his hard flesh raised beneath her touch, the way his lashes fluttered and his teeth grit as he selfishly chased his pleasure, dragging her along for the lecherous ride.

They came as violently as the encounter demanded, both crying out as their muscles convulsed without much warning. Ransom’s hips jerked reflexively as his seed spilled, causing Marta to yip and quiver intensely around him. Groaning in agonized bliss, he pinched his eyes shut until the last of the spine-tingling orgasm subsided. He barely had the wherewithal to tip himself toward the backrest of the couch before he collapsed beside Marta to try and catch his breath.

“I haven’t had angry sex in awhile,” he chuckled, groaning with satisfaction when he stretched the best he could in the cramped space. Marta huffed, though she was gratefully too dazed to really process anything for the moment. She was boneless, so didn’t protest when Ransom nudged her onto her side and wrapped his arm around her to pull her flush against him, her back to his chest. He wasn’t fazed by their stickiness, or the harsh behavior she was just starting to feel guilty about. He just squeezed her close and touched his lips to the back of her neck with a tenderness that had Marta’s heart pounding. 

“Don’t leave me,” he pleaded, his voice soft and unexpectedly raw. She felt her heart twist again, her guilt building over how she’d struck him to egg out something dark and vicious that hadn’t been present with them for quite some time. 

But it had the desired effect. Ransom couldn’t stop himself from falling asleep with how spent he was, and all too soon his body turned to lead and his breathing grew heavy against the back of her neck. She swallowed, unable to move for several moments as she blinked back silent tears. She laid in his arms, thoughts spiraling while he fell deeper into the sleep he desperately needed, her plan to escape now feeling so treacherous after his quiet plea and the way he unconsciously shifted closer to her. Between his undeniable affection, and the way it suddenly started to downpour outside, her desire to find his phone or car keys while he slept… dwindled.

The chain linking her to him never felt heavier, but she still carefully removed his arm from where it hung around his waist so she could lift from the couch. She looked down at him, took a moment to admire his soft expression and still flushed cheeks, the scratch and bite marks still adorned on his pale skin. He’d ruined her, and maybe that new dark part of her had wanted to wreck him, too. Her success had a small smile quirking her lips, but she grabbed the blanket they’d tossed halfway off the armrest, and drew it over him. She left him to sleep, and grabbed his sweater and her panties while she made her way toward the bathroom to clean up.

After, she took the quiet reprieve to think, and explore the forgotten cabin. She contemplated what to do as she explored the 3 bed, 2 bath ranch-style home, flip-flopping between her original plan for escape and her more insane impulse to work this out with Ransom. Why? She didn’t even know anymore, but the thought of turning her back on him made her gut churn as badly as any lie. Guilt and shame tried to make their bed in her, like she carried all the emotions Ransom _should_ feel over his careless actions, but she pushed them away as she quietly poked through one of the rooms.

She found a box of photographs stuffed in the closet, and spent some time bowed over it, a nostalgic smile flickering onto her face as she watched snapshots of Harlan’s life. Of him and his wife, and Linda, Neil, and Walt when they were younger. A family photo from a picnic with them all more grown, Ransom the only child of the next generation unhappily standing before the adults. Marta huffed in amusement before she paused on another old photo, a candid capture of Linda clinging to her father’s side like always, smiling in a way Marta had never seen the old woman do. 

She frowned thoughtfully and set all the photos away, pushing the box back where she’d found it before she continued her exploration, her only company the steady hiss of rain. She found a copy of Harlan’s _Homunculus_ on one of the room’s shelves, and since it was the current book she was in the middle of, she grabbed it to continue reading and pass the time. She’d decided to try talking to Ransom at least _one_ more time before making a final decision after all they’d been through, and at the very least, her sticking around through his nap would give him a false sense of security that she’d behave herself.

She really was starting to think like him.

By the time Ransom woke with a start, Marta had made it through five new chapters and the gray world outside was starting to darken, though the rain had stopped a half hour ago. He jerked upright, bleary blue eyes quickly settling on her. She didn’t lift her eyes from the book as she gestured a mug through the air and announced, “There’s coffee in the kitchen.” Grunting, Ransom lifted from the couches, and Marta _did_ look up when the blanket slipped away.

She quietly admired the view of his perfectly round ass as he grabbed his jeans, but went back to reading when he tugged his pants up and headed for the kitchen. She read silently while he nursed his cup of coffee and woke up, but when she reached the end of another chapter, she finally closed the book. Without looking at him, she said, “You can’t keep me here forever, you know. Alice and Mama are probably worried sick.”

“I don’t intend to keep you here forever. I just needed somewhere to knock the panic out of your brain, and this was the first place that came to mind,” he responded bluntly. “We’ll go back when you stop feeling like a flight risk.” She rolled her eyes, her agitation from before rising swiftly. Shaking her head irritably, she bit her tongue and tried to compose herself while Ransom wandered into the bathroom. After taking a deep, steadying breath, she lifted from her seat and headed him off as he tried to leave the bathroom.

When he startled back and eyed her, she said, “You shouldn’t have run, it’ll look suspicious.” He scoffed and slipped past her, into the bedroom he’d left their bags in.

“Doesn’t matter. Everyone knows what a mob hit looks like, but they’ll be forced to write it off as a murder-suicide with the way the scene was left… whatever’s left of it,” he explained, while handing Marta off a pair of leggings she could comfortably wear, and grabbing a new sweater for himself since Marta was still wearing his (not that he minded in the least bit). As they both pulled on the fresh garments, he told her, “Larry Cru’s got his alibi on tape with the fundraiser he attended last night, and I was seen leaving Walt’s house an hour before the cameras went dead.”

“That makes you the last person to have seen them alive,” Marta pointed out, following Ransom as he headed back for the main room.

“And I have the evidence of what I was there for in my pocket. There’s no evidence of me being there after because I wasn'-“ words died on his tongue the second they reached the crest of the living room and kitchen, his icy eyes widening upon locking with an identical pair reflecting back at him. “What are you doing here?” Ransom asked as Marta startled around him and froze upon seeing none other than Linda standing halfway between the front door and the open living room. Raindrops speckled her sleek trench coat, but the messy mascara beneath her red-rimmed eyes betrayed a different kind of moisture as the culprit. 

And those grief-riddled eyes were trained on Marta with venomous intent.

“You,” she snarled, voice ragged with emotion. The dreadful pit falling into Marta’s stomach suddenly filled with fear when Linda lifted her hand from her coat pocket and cocked the barrel of a gun on her. Her hand trembled as the hysterical woman cried, “You did this to us, to me. I’ve lost everything.”

“No, mother,” Ransom spoke, shockingly calm despite how he stepped the two paces it took to put himself in front of Marta and in the path of the silver handgun. “It’s not her fault. It’s mine. Point that gun at me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It got worse D: But at least the popular demand for a Marta slap happened, huh? xD Poor thing is such a confusing flood of emotions, and still has people threatening her and her fam left and right, I can't really blame her for her chosen stress relief. Hopefully that slap felt a little cathartic for us all lol.
> 
> As always, thanks so much for reading this story, and please let me know what you think!


	32. You Reap What You Sow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You really gonna shoot us both?” he growled, voice strained between fury and horror. His heart pounded heavily in his chest while his mother sneered at him.
> 
> “I just might,” she hissed at him spitefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Gore, Attempted Murder
> 
> Also, please be advised I'm posting Chapters 32 and 33 on the same day, so make sure you don't miss this one!

Ransom didn’t feel fear. He didn’t feel a lot of emotions on the “normal” human spectrum, and fear was certainly one of them. Even when Larry’s henchmen had a knife teasing toward his eye, the feeling hadn’t crossed his path. His mother was one of the few, if not the only being on the planet capable of drumming up a sense of dread in his soul, but it had never quite developed into full-blown fear. 

Linda Drysdale, and now once again Thrombey, didn’t have a comforting presence. She never had, even as an early mother. She was the kind of woman who could sap any warmth out of a room with a look, and hook your insides out with a few dry words. She was vicious, calculated, and poised almost always, which made the few times she completely lost her head dreadfully alarming. This though, Ransom had never seen this.

Hands and lip trembling in distraught, her presence unkempt and eyes as watery as they were fiery, he looked down the barrel of the gun and felt ice freeze up his insides, fear making bile threaten to rise up his throat. His mother had never cared about him, and he genuinely didn’t know if she’d be willing to shoot him now. It wasn’t him he was afraid for, though, but the woman with her tiny hand clamped around the fabric at his back.

“Get out of the way, Ransom,” Linda snarled.

“I’m good right here, thanks,” he muttered flatly, though he did lift his hands when his mother took a step forward and jerked the gun threateningly. “Why don’t you tell me what this is about,” he encouraged instead, to get her rambling and hopefully distracted. His mother sneered at him.

“You know damn well what it’s about! Isn’t that why you shipped your thief of a mistress up here?” Linda barked at him, scoffing at the bite mark on his skin peeking out from the dark blue collar of his sweater. Her lip trembled again, tears welling thickly before her eyes as she croaked, “Walt’s dead. My baby brother… and he _wouldn’t_ be if that little bitch had just given up dad’s fortune like she was supposed to!” 

Her hand rattled again around the butt of the gun, causing Ransom to swallow slowly, Adam’s apple bobbing to betray his fear. He was too far to rush his mother without risking getting shot, leaving him at a loss for an immediate plan. His only saving grace for now was how well his broad build could shield Marta from her view. He felt her fingers trailing over his back, and down his jeans, but he couldn’t focus on it much as he glared his mother down.

“Yeah, lost all the family you care about now, huh? Granddad, Walt… even Dad, I think,” Ransom drawled, pursing his lips and shrugging uncertainly when he mentioned his father. His mother’s jaw clenched, an obvious sign that wound still lingered, though she’d never admit it. “You wanna claim that one’s Marta’s fault, too?” he prodded next, for once trying to reason the displaced anger away instead of exacerbating the problem. His mother’s nostrils still flared, eyes narrowing as if she was considering tacking on the grievance to her current list of grudges with her father’s heiress.

“How did you even find us here?” Marta interjected into the conversation, still hiding behind Ransom. Her fingers fisted into his sweater harshly, and he dared to glance back at her. His bright blue eyes shifted until he caught a glimpse of the corner of his phone, which he now realized Marta had fished from his back pocket. She’d hit the emergency button on the edge of the iPhone screen pad, and lowered the volume entirely so the dispatcher wouldn’t be heard. 

Ransom didn’t quite know those details, but he was smart enough to realize what Marta needed. As he turned back to his mother, his glower turned deadly upon realizing she’d shifted forward another foot. “One Cedar Mill Road, Ashland State Park,” Ransom announced the address as his mother fell back into a stalemate with him, his weight shifting to ensure he remained wholly braced between Marta and Linda. “One of the only privately owned residence in the park area. See, the rich can own even what the state deems theirs,” he gloated, and though he couldn’t see her, he knew Marta rolled her eyes at him.

“Ransom said no one would find us here, but now here you are with a gun pointed at us,” Marta said, reinforcing the urgency with whatever police department she’d just called before she hung up, not wanting to tip Linda off or risk Ransom saying something that might get him in trouble. She slipped the phone back in Ransom’s back pocket as Linda explained her brilliance, thankfully still oblivious.

“Process of elimination. When I didn’t find you at dad’s mansion, or Ransom’s, I checked the hospital.” Marta’s heart gave a lurch, but she barely made a step before Ransom’s arm wrapped backward to catch her and keep her wholly behind him. Linda’s eyes narrowed, her head tipping as she dared to take another side step. Ransom moved with her like a mirror while his mother goaded further, “Saw your delightful little family worried sick about you – nice, by the way, leaving your mother strung out and worried sick like that.”

Ransom sneered at his mother and grumbled, “Like you’d know a fucking thing about that.” Linda ignored him to keep speaking with Marta.

“So then I got thinking of where Ransom might take you if he felt skittish for some reason. This place popped to mind, forgotten as it is… and now here we are.”

“What’s your plan here, Mom?” Ransom asked, taking another slow step around his mother when she tried to round them again. He backed Marta toward the hallway again to give them further cover, inching them toward a room they could try and make a break for it.

“Don’t move another step!” Linda barked, jerking the gun to attention to warn her son off from trying to backpedal further. His jaw clenched, but both he and Marta froze at the edge of the hallway toward the bedrooms.

“You really gonna shoot us both?” he growled, voice strained between fury and horror. His heart pounded heavily in his chest while his mother sneered at him.

“I just might,” she hissed at him spitefully.

“Christ,” he huffed, brows lifting incredulously. He didn’t know if he had enough in his jaded heart to feel truly surprised or wounded, but it still smarted some. Agitated, his expression hardened when he asked, “Why’d you even have me? You’ve never made it a secret you wanted nothing to do with me. So why bother? If we’re about to end it all here, you might as well tell me.” Linda swallowed thickly, her hazy blue eyes watering a little more as she considered her son.

“Your grandfather wanted grandkids,” she started, blinking as the grief over his loss swelled within her chest. Her breath rattled in a contemptuous huff when she continued, “And _Neil_ was taking his sweet time settling down. He and Joni were just starting to flit around each other - their disgusting fornication in front of everyone on the fucking planet - I never expected them to last.” Her face curled in disgust, and Ransom’s eyes watched the gun rattle in her unstable hand. 

“And Walt – he was still in college, so it was up to me. It was supposed to make me the favorite,” she complained, though she did pause to reassess her son. “There was a time, you know, where I was excited to be a mom, to have you,” she told him quietly, and Ransom sucked in a slow breath and clenched his jaw, steeling himself for what he knew was coming. Sure enough, a moment later, she snarled, “But then you were born… and all you did was scream, and cry. You were a plague then, and you’re a plague now. And for whatever reason, he doted on you in a way he never did anyone else… until his little Ecuadorian nurse.”

“Colombian,” Ransom corrected his mother instinctively. It was a change his mother caught on to with a balk. 

“How can you stand it? She took everything and ripped our family apart.”

“I told you I did that. And you know what? I’d do it again.”

“Ransom-“ Marta tried to interrupt, but he cut her off quickly.

“No. She needs to hear it if she’s so hell bent on blood,” he said, eyes locked with his mother’s teary leer. Huffing, he smirked and mused, “I guess we know where I get it from now, huh? Just another Thrombey legacy.” Before he could say anything else, a siren wailed outside, still in the distance but close enough to alarm Linda into looking toward the windows. Ransom took his chance, lunging forward to close the dozen feet between him and his mother. 

He made it half the distance before his mother turned her attention back toward him and startled, her jittery finger finally squeezing too hard around the trigger.

“NO!” Marta screamed, her voice drowned out by the ear-shattering _bang!_ The entire world froze for a second, three sets of eyes widening in horror before Ransom slowly tipped back. He fell back with a thud, the carpet-muffled sound somehow frightfully loud. It snapped reality back into place as Marta briefly looked over Ransom’s glazed eyes, and the blood suddenly soaking into his dark blue sweater from a grotesque, seeping hole beneath his left collarbone. Linda paled. 

“I-I didn’t mean-“ she stammered, wide eyes beady in her shock as she tried to process what she’d done to her son. She saw Marta shift, didn’t realize it was to get to Ransom to help him - didn’t care either. She just saw her chosen vessel of blame and anger – now her son’s condition tacked on to the laundry list of misplaced responsibility – and lifted her gun again.

Marta dove forward, narrowly missing a shot that instead went into the wall. Another shot blasted through the cabin as she made it behind one of the couches, ducking for cover while Linda’s rage sent her into a rabid frenzy. “Why won't you just die, you cockroach?!” Linda barked at her while bullet after bullet pelleted into the couch, ripping fabric and fluff up in lieu of Marta’s flesh. It wasn’t any less terrifying though. Marta jerked each time the gun fired, until it suddenly did nothing but click uselessly.

Still too jarred after misfiring on her son, Linda shook the gun uselessly as she kept squeezing the trigger, giving Marta an opportunity to surge up from behind the couch. She rushed the other woman and wrenched the gun from her, pure adrenaline propelling her to backhand Linda with the barrel of the gun. As her balance tipped from the brutal blow, Marta shoved her as hard as she could, sending Linda crashing into the coffee table between the two couches. The clattering of her body smacking into the wood was painfully loud, but she didn’t wait to see if it was enough to keep Linda down.

“Ransom?!” she called, while racing toward him. She detoured to the kitchen to grab a dishtowel before collapsing beside him, setting the gun at her side as she inspected the oozing bullet wound beneath his collar. “Oh my God,” she whispered, a terrifying pit sinking into her stomach at how pale he looked, and how soaked in red the shoulder of his sweater was. She smothered the wound with the towel and pressed to staunch the blood flow, and all he could manage was a weak groan at the searing pain. He blinked, hazy eyes trying to focus. A flicker of his arrogant smile came and went.

“Maybe it’s better this way,” he mumbled, one arm lifting to absently reach up to her. 

“Don’t say that,” Marta snapped immediately, placing her now crimson stained fingers against his pulse. It was weak, and his skin felt clammy from shock, both under her fingertips and where his too-cold touch settled against her jaw. The sirens were so much louder now, but Marta couldn’t hear them as Ransom’s eyes slipped closed, and didn’t notice Linda scamper up from her daze to try and make a run for it. All she saw was Ransom fading and demanded, “No, Ransom? Hey! Stay with me. You hear me? Stay with me.” He jostled a little when she tapped his cheek, eyes glazed but brows furrowing perceptively to show he’d heard her.

“Now why would you want that?” he asked slowly, eyes already threatening to slip closed again. His fingers flexed up though, toying with a lock of her ebony hair.

“Because. Because you’re mine, Ransom,” she told him, tears welling in her eyes. She smoothed her hand against his cheek more firmly, tilting his head to try and force his eyes to focus on her. “Please? Please don’t leave me. You were right, you asshole! You hear me?” she cried, stressed and desperate to keep his attention as she compressed his wound. The cabin became bathed in red and blue light with the approach of emergency vehicles, but it painted the macabre scene in an ominous light as Ransom’s hand slipped from Marta and his eyes closed again, refusing to open even as she croaked, “I love you. Please. You can’t die, because I love you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright listen, LISTEN! With all the stressful shit going on in the world right now, I didn't want to leave this story on a cliffhanger like this, especially since with a book you can just flip to the next page and find out what happens. Hence, I'm posting chapters 32 and 33 in immediate succession. In exchange for me not being super fucking evil, please still comment on this chapter? PRETTY PLEASE?! I still want to know your thoughts regarding this one, and will be forever grateful if you do so T_T
> 
> Thank you so much!


	33. Tale As Old As Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BE ADVISED I posted Chapters 32 and 33 on the same day, so if you haven't read Chapter 32 yet, please go back and read it, otherwise this will be very confusing.

Oppressive white light flooded down on him, immediately making him close his eyes. They felt heavy and exhausted anyway, so he kept them closed for several moments before some impulse he didn’t understand made him try again. Long lashes fluttered over his weary blue eyes. He couldn’t process the bland ceiling or florescent lights above him at all.

_Where am I?_

He tried to speak, but his throat felt so dry it wouldn’t move, like he’d been filled with cement and could do nothing but lay there like a statue. His head felt slogged, mushy and liquid, and he could hardly feel anything else. His breath hitched, and then he heard his name spoken desperately as a prayer, and in a lilt that had his heart skipping a beat.

_Marta_.

Ransom barely shifted his head before she was there, encompassing all he could see. Her ebony hair teased down toward him freely, haloed by the bright lights above. Her brown eyes were big and teary, glittering with so many emotions he couldn’t begin to discern, but the beautiful smile that spread across her lips stole his breath away. She grabbed his limp hand, the smooth glide of her olive skin against his slightly muted by his foggy state of being.

“You’re alright. We’re in the hospital,” she told him, helping him process. He blinked, memories coming back to him slowly. He wished they hadn’t, because his left collarbone started to ache from the awareness, even through the morphine he now knew was fading from his system, yet still adding to the daze he remained in. “You’ve been out for about a day, between the surgery – t-they had to fish the bullet out – and now you’re in the ICU for recovery,” she told him carefully, gauging his reaction. He blinked again slowly, his light eyes glazing a little.

“You stayed?” he breathed, voice hoarse and raw from more than just his injury. Her brows knit, pain mingling with affection on her face, and Ransom felt shame sweep through him fast and hard.

“Of course I did,” she murmured, winding her free hand around the hand she already had a grasp on with her other. _Why,_ he thought, but couldn’t voice. He didn’t deserve it – didn’t deserve her. He knew it, and for the first time in his life, he accepted it. She finally had her chance to escape him, and after all he’d put her through, she had every right _and reason_ to walk away. But she hadn’t, and he suddenly couldn’t understand why.

Before he could gather his wits to ask, or even fully comprehend the emotional weight crushing his chest, another face came into view. “What the hell are you doing here?” Ransom growled, and Marta huffed with surprising fondness at the edge that came back to his voice. Benoit looked far less endeared, his lips pursing as he eyed Ransom in his hospital bed, tubing neatly set in his nose for oxygen, and more curling around one of his arms so fluid and medicine could pass through the IV stuck in his arm. His hospital gown had a bulky set of gauze beneath the left side where his bullet wound was patched up and aching, which Benoit eyed with a certain appreciation.

He’d never admit it, but Ransom kind of understood. It felt like penance, like a brand he deserved to carry, and somehow not nearly enough of a punishment for all his selfish sins. 

“I’m here to support Marta, of course,” Benoit said, an unsurprising answer. “And to see for myself what havoc you wrought upon yourself,” the southerner added, his voice a little darker.

“Benoit,” Marta chastised, but Ransom huffed in reluctant impress.

“No, it’s alright,” Ransom dismissed. Marta still didn’t look pleased, which was enough to silence both men. Benoit finally softened a little.

“Marta told us what happened,” he informed Ransom then, which had the younger man’s heart lurching into his throat. _Here it is,_ he finally realized, and steeled himself to listen to his whole world unravel again as Benoit explained, “How, when you both found out what had happened to Walt, you went up to the cabin to hide, lest the unsavory culprit we all suspect, but won’t catch decided to come for the new owner of the publishing company to get his dues paid. How Linda tracked you there with deadly intent, and you bought enough time for the cavalry to come and truly save the day.” 

Left speechless, all Ransom could do was blink. His gaze shifted from Benoit to Marta, a secretive smile toying at her coy lips. Benoit couldn’t see from where he stood behind her, but Ransom couldn’t look away for several moments, not until the PI started talking again. “Between this, and the felony tax evasion I dug up on Linda’s finances over the last few years, I’d say she’s going to have a lot of proceedings with the court for the foreseeable _ever_. She won’t be able to afford another for Harlan’s inheritance, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the judge throws out your lawsuit, given the bullet she put in her own son’s shoulder.”

Ransom’s lashes fluttered, his stomach flipping over itself at the bluntly uttered trauma still throbbing in his shoulder. “The police have her in custody now,” Marta assured him, like that helped fix anything. He glanced away, unsettled and stricken, as Marta turned toward the investigator and flashed a warm smile. “Thank you, Benoit,” she murmured sincerely, earning a nod from the older man. Remembering a pertinent detail he suddenly wanted off his hands, Ransom swallowed thickly and subsequently cleared his throat.

“I have, uh – in my coat pocket,” he started, pausing to look around the sterile hospital room for his coat. He was in an isolated room, so it was easy enough to look around the small square space. Marta moved for a chair against the wall, having packed all their things up to take with them when the police took them both from the cabin. She brought the beige coat over to him, and held it up as he searched through the pockets until he found a piece of paper. He held it out for Benoit to take and explained, “They’re the names of the two kids who helped Jacob beat up Alice.”

Benoit didn’t seem to be surprised by the information, which told him Marta had mentioned that piece of information as well. The southerner took the scrap of paper and nodded as he looked over the names. “I’ll see that this gets to the police,” he promised, looking toward Ransom with a ghost of a smile. Gesturing with the paper, he added, “They’ll want to know you’re awake anyhow to take your statement on the matters that transpired.” He shifted to take his leave then, but before he did, he stopped at the other side of Ransom’s bed and looked down at him for a long moment. 

“No more funny business,” he finally said, a knowing glint in the old man’s eyes that had Ransom clenching his jaw. He swallowed slowly, keeping his gaze locked with Benoit’s, until he finally gave a subtle, stiff nod. Appeased, Benoit nodded back, and finally escaped the hospital room. Ransom stared at the door for a long moment, before his gaze flickered toward Marta uncertainly. She had a patient look in her eyes, and a smile toying with her lips that he couldn’t fathom.

“You lied,” he finally said, voice still rough with unprocessed emotion. Her smile twitched a little, before she tipped her weight almost flirtatiously and shook her head.

“Rearranged the truth,” she corrected, smile shining true as she stepped closer to his beside again. “It’s all true. I just stitched it together in a way… to make a more beautiful picture,” she teased, leaving Ransom stunned. Of all the things he’d expected of their little game, Marta getting over her anxiety about lying (even in her creatively twisted way) had been a pleasantly surprising outcome. And a confusing one - now more so than ever. He didn’t know what to do with her covering for him in such a manner, and chuckled weakly until the pain beneath his collar spiked and forced him to wince. 

“Why?” Ransom asked hoarsely. Marta touched her fingers just beneath the wound under his shoulder, and he felt his heart twist under the gentle embrace.

“You saved me. From Walt, and Linda,” she said quietly, trailing off as she stared at the gauze covering his shoulder. Her dark eyes glazed over as she contemplated, “I guess you were just first in line to try and kill me, but… you’ve made up for that.” Her fingers brushed over the bulk of the gauze, and despite how gentle she was, he felt like she’d dug her fingers into the stitched together hole in his flesh. His eye twitched, jaw clenching – not from pain, but the understanding that he didn’t deserve her credit.

“No I haven’t. They came after you because of me,” he argued, seeing so clearly how his acts of violence had pushed others toward the same. He saw his own dominoes fall in a completely different light after his near death experience, and he could hardly stand it. Marta seemed to be in the same boat, though flipped to the other side he’d once been on.

“No,” she murmured, shaking her head. “They would’ve come after me either way, one way or another… they already had been since the second Harlan’s will was read, but I didn’t want to see it.” Pausing, she curled her fingers around his arm again, squeezing his heavy hand affectionately. “But you’ve been here to stand in their way the whole time.”

“Marta-“ he griped, panicking, recoiling. She could see it plain as day as his eyes glittered with the weight of his actions and where it had led them. He’d never faced real consequences to his actions, and it had taken his own mother trying to end the life she’d given him for him to realize just how fucked his entire existence was. He’d blame his family to the end of time and be right to do so, but he also knew he kicked the cog for chaos, fed the fire of hostility. He thrived on hate, and so brought it to the doorstep of the one person he actually gave a fuck about in the universe.

No, he didn’t deserve her, but Marta didn’t care about that. She bowed forward and stole his attention away from self-deprecating thoughts that tried to convince him he belonged with some gold-digging bitch like Kristin, or in the gutters with his father like his mother claimed. Marta set her hand to his cheek and forced his stormy eyes to lock with her steady gaze until she knew she had his rapt attention. 

“You didn’t give me a choice at the start of this, Ransom. You forced me to see this your way, and now I’m going to force you to see this my way,” she told him sternly, but sweetly. Her hand shifted, pressing more intimately against the expanse of his jaw and cheek. Frail as he was, she held him steady as she expressed the truth he knew, but still didn’t want to face. “We’re bound. By horror, and death… but by love and change, too. You’ve changed, and so have I, and you’re not letting this go just because you figured out how to be a real boy finally.” 

She’d heard once that the hardest people to love were the ones who needed it the most. She’d never understood that before she grew to love Ransom.

“I love you,” she confessed again, watching as he gasped and his eyes grew watery with amazement, and fear. He’d never heard those words before, and if anyone but Mara said them, he wouldn’t have believed it. She didn’t puke, however, and there was no way those three words could be any rearrangement. They were true, through and through. He recoiled into his bedding, but her fingers flexed over his cheek, keeping him captive to her gaze and her words. 

“You’re an evil man. I can’t pretend you’re not. But you’re also a good man, and I won’t deny that’s true. Won’t let you deny it either,” she insisted, gently pressing against his cheek when he tried to avert his glassy eyes. She waited until his bewitching blue gaze steadied with hers again before she continued. “You’re not one or the other, but both. It’s just that no one before me tried to show you the good. So that’s what I’m going to do. Keep showing you good until there’s nothing left of the Beast.” 

Ransom didn’t know what to say, and didn’t know what to do to keep his tumultuous emotions at bay. He felt close to crying, which he hadn’t done since he was little. Throat closing, all he could do for a moment was shake his head. It had Marta’s palm brushing near the corner of his lips, and that simple sensation made him so starved for her touch and affection that his breath hitched. He had to clear his throat again before he could rasp, “That might take a lifetime.”

Marta just smiled at him. She gripped his face with both hands, and bowed forward slowly to seal his lips with hers in a tender kiss. The embrace made his heart throb, ready to burst out of his chest, and he ignored the sharp pain in his shoulder to tilt his head off the pillow to deepen the embrace. When she drew back, there was a bright twinkle in her eye as she nodded.

“I’m counting on it.”

~*~

Marta had rules for him, of course. He found it laughably ironic he was finally the one receiving a list of ridiculous demands for their relationship to work, but he didn’t complain. He couldn’t kidnap or kill anymore, and he couldn’t try to fly the coop when he felt skittish himself. All reasonable, sensible, arguably common-sense demands, and he found himself agreeing easily simply because he doubted there’d be a need for any of it again – what with everyone he wanted dead already gone, and Marta’s voluntary presence by his side.

The last one was the hardest to commit to. He still felt strangely about it all, unsettled and upset by the events that had transpired over the last several days. That only worsened when - after all the conversations with Marta, the cops, and his doctors ended – very late into the evening, Alice came to his room. Per Marta’s request, they’d been placed in the same wing of the same hospital for recovery, making it easy for Marta to check on both each day.

Ransom’s bright blue eyes watched her warily as she clung to her IV stand and hobbled into his room, one hand set to her broken ribs to try and stifle the pain. He didn’t point out how she shouldn’t be moving, just watched as she walked to his bedside and met his gaze steadily with her one good eye. The swelling in her face had lessened, but the discoloring from her bruising and cuts almost made the injury look worse.

Wordlessly, Alice reached for Ransom’s hand. She held it knowingly, squeezing him with a certain air of gratitude that had him immediately glancing away. He swallowed thickly, unsure how to feel about another Cabrera silently accepting him for the monstrosity he was. It… he wasn’t used to it, didn’t know what to do with their open embraces when he was so used to the knives of ridicule and hostility. Alice was going to sleep a little better at night knowing her assailants were taken care of though, and fucked or not, she had Ransom to thank for that.

She spared him any further discomfort by releasing him. She reached into the pocket of her hospital robe and tossed a pudding cup she’d saved for him. He startled a little, but caught the little chocolate delight with both his weak hands. As Alice shuffled toward a seat in the room, she asked, “You like crime shows?”

That’s how Marta found them the next day, and the days to come, eating fresh pudding cups as they bantered and argued over Alice’s favorite crime drama show. Alice liked ribbing Ransom for his ‘killer instincts’ any time he tried to guess whodunit. He was often right, which lead to more teasing, and he’d snark back at the youngest Cabrera for being a wannabe with her crime drama obsession. It was morbidly funny, and got to the point where Marta requested they both be placed in the same room so Alice would stop getting out of bed during her recovery.

Watching the two of them made Marta smile though, warm and affectionate. Even Mama had warmed up – nothing like taking a bullet for her daughter to win brownie points with the stubborn woman – and while she didn’t express it verbally, she always made sure to make enough food to bring to the hospital for both Alice and Ransom, and she’d stop giving him her death glares. Whether he knew it or not, or could accept it yet or not, Ransom was a part of her family now. 

_This is probably as good as it’s going to get,_ Marta thought to herself, still watching her little family unit with a smile, _and damn, is it pretty good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it... Marta's a little bad, Ransom's a little good, and they'll live happily ever after. This is the soft ending for this fic. There will be a hard ending/epilogue (you didn't think this fic would end without one last smut scene, did you?) where I'll wrap up all the loose ends I care about and let these two go out with a bang. But we've reached the safe/happy zone again. And I just want to say, thank you all so much for following this novel and your support! This has been so much fun, and has taught me a lot about myself and my writing. This is probably my favorite story I've ever written, so thank you so much for sharing this journey with me <3


	34. Song As Old As Rhyme (Epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot had changed. Everything, maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's let these two crazy kids go out with I Found by Amber Run, because it fits their journey rather perfectly, no?

_Four Months Later…_

Marta twisted around the front door of Ransom’s modern home, holding it open for him to bring in the large box his bulky arms were wrapped around. Once inside, Ransom put it down on the long table set near his doorway for random knick-knacks and mail. His fingers lingered against the cardboard as he looked at the worn books and notebooks contained within, a few framed pictures among them - all taken from Harlan’s attic study. More boxes containing the rest of Harlan’s personal effects (such as his journals, first editions, and family memorabilia) already littered his foyer and living room for safekeeping.

A lot had changed. Everything, maybe. 

His finger curled toward a dark-skinned notebook reverently, before he lifted his head to look at Marta. She was moseying through his home with awkward consideration, her fingers touching to the living room furniture she’d only really spent time on once before. He wondered if she’d get creeped out here the way Alice had at his grandfather’s place within the first few days she tried living with them all those months ago. He hoped not, since he wasn’t ready to give his home up, and they needed _somewhere_ in the area they could stay when they were around, but he also knew he wouldn’t blame her if she couldn’t acclimate to his space.

He supposed he’d find out the few days they’d be staying here before their extended trip abroad. First stop, Hawaii (no, it wasn’t technically abroad yet, but it was a staple stop for travel). They had a slew of tropical and urban destinations planned after that, all the way from the Caribbean to Berlin. Now that Marta’s mother was officially a citizen, he knew she was looking forward to it – she’d been jittery and excited for days. At least, until now. 

Lips pressing together, Ransom watched her study his effects for another moment before saying, “You can make yourself at home. I’m gonna go pack.”

Marta looked at him with a small smile and nodded, and watched him walk up the suspended wood stairs to the second floor. With summer finally here, he had a tight T-shirt on over his jeans. She was excited to see him in more revealing shirts and tank tops, and nothing but swim trunks when they inevitably ended up near water. Her mouth still watered at the barely concealed show of his back muscles rippling beneath the taut white fabric he wore now.

When he disappeared upstairs, she swayed where she stood in his living room, her dark eyes flickering around again. She didn’t know what to do with herself until her phone started ringing. She looked at the caller ID and smiled. “Hello Benoit,” she crooned once she answered the call.

“Hello Marta,” he said, and she smiled wider at the warmth she felt in his tone. As he’d predicted, their lawsuit was thrown out soon after charges were formally brought against Linda. She forewent trying to reinstate the lawsuit when she had to suddenly protect her own finances and freedom, and the chapter of Thrombey harassment officially closed. Benoit had gone back to New York after that, but he and Marta frequently spoke on the phone since then. 

She sat down on the plush pearl couch and crossed her legs while they caught up on the last few weeks, and Marta shared her excitement about the upcoming trip. Somehow, in the middle of her gushing about what she wanted to do in Tuscany, Benoit blurted, “Tusks.”

“Huh?”

“Tuscany – toosk – tusks,” he said, and Marta suppressed a snort realizing he was going into one of his strange word association games. She still didn’t understand how his mind worked, but suddenly he was the excited one. “Marta, I think I might’ve figured something out! Do you mind if I call you back once I’ve seen this through?”

“No, of course not. Good luck,” she said. They hung up, and she huffed a little as she stared at her phone, curious what lead her friend was about to follow. She knew she’d hear about it once the case was solved. Taking a deep breath, she let out a shoulder-deflating sigh and looked around the living room again. Her eyes honed in on the large brick fireplace that seemed almost out of place against the glass exterior of the house.

She’d been amazed by the glamor of Ransom’s home when she first saw it, and strangely endeared by how warm the living room seemed in particular. Ransom had good taste, but she felt out of place now, and not just because everything seemed so fancy. Harlan’s mansion had been something like equal ground for them, despite Marta having inherited it. Somewhere they both knew intimately, a place they’d battled wills and wits until they’d grown into what they were now. This place belonged to Ransom, through and through. There wasn’t a trace of anyone else anywhere, and her introduction to the space had been stressful and deceptive, though she tried not to let it get to her now… especially now that it was the only place they owned in the Boston area. 

She didn’t regret turning Harlan’s estate into a museum for him and the legacy of his books. After Mama had gotten her citizenship that spring, it just made sense. A few renovations had been made to cover up the house arrest incidents and keep certain areas of the home better protected from visitor meddling, but then the mansion-turned-museum opened at the start of June. She’d offered the oversight to Trooper Wagner, which he happily agreed to, and deemed all earnings to handle the upkeep of the mansion and paying the museum staff. The dogs went to Alice to keep her company and help her feel secure in her new off campus housing, and the rest of Harlan’s personal effects came here.

She didn’t regret it, but nostalgia still overcame her as she knelt beside a box in the living room and thumbed through pictures and the more personal artifacts in Harlan’s downstairs office, such as his baseball and a signed copy of Agatha Christie’s _Murder on the Orient Express_. Upstairs, Ransom was in a similar boat as he threw clothes inside a designer suitcase, but his reminiscing had a dark tinge to it.

His shoulder had healed, for the most part. Sometimes it still smarted when it rained or he stretched at an unexpected angle, but physical therapy had helped him keep his mobility and mass. The scar that lingered ran far deeper than the skin though, the tiny knot still slightly red on the surface, and stretched to and through his heart beneath. He’d made strides to stifle the ache and silence the invigorated demons knocking at his newly formed conscience, and with Marta’s gentle presence by his side, they shockingly _weren’t_ maladaptive. 

He gave his uncle’s cabin to Meg, though that wasn’t _entirely_ a selfless decision. He’d hardly used it to begin with, and had now been shot in it, so felt no desire to keep the property. And he’d _definitely_ taunted Meg when he told her, warning, “Don’t get too excited. You’re gonna have to scrub my blood out of the floor.” Naturally, she’d called him a prick, but he thought she maybe felt a little more amicable toward him after that. He’d never admit it, but he kind of hoped she did… that maybe she felt the same miniscule desire for things to be different between them now.

He knew it’d never be the same with his mother, at least. She’d taken a plea bargain for her attempted murder on him, so he didn’t have to face her in a court or otherwise, and he had no plans to ever change that. Marta suggested therapy, which he unsurprisingly brushed off. He knew she’d keep trying to convince him of the merits of talking to someone, but he couldn’t bring himself to even talk to her about it, let alone some pretentiously licensed stranger.

After tossing another short-sleeved Henley into his suitcase, Ransom sighed. He glanced toward his bedroom door, and quickly found himself heading down the stairs to check on Marta. She was on the phone again. The Spanish lilting from her tongue gave him a good idea who she was talking to, so he slowed his approach. She still looked up from the box she was fingering through, and offered a small smile. When she hung up, he finally managed a tiny smile and asked, “How’s your mom?” 

“Good. She says hello,” Marta said, pushing up from the seat she had on the floor. He nodded and approached her while she smoothed out her thigh length black skirt. The flowy material fanned out with each brush of her fingers, and the loose shoulder of her white shirt slipped down her arm while she fussed. Ransom swallowed, his mouth going dry at how effortlessly sexy she was. His hands found their way to her hips, which had her attention snapping back to his face. “Did you finish packing?” 

“No. I came to check on you,” he said, eyes reluctantly slanting toward the boxes. His gaze returned to her when she laughed.

“You mean check that I wasn’t snooping,” she corrected. Ransom’s lips quirked in a half-smirk, and she set her hand to his cheek affectionately. She tilted his head to make sure she held his full gaze before she reminded, “You know I won’t read any of it until you’re ready.” 

“Yeah, I know,” he said, almost defensively. She just smiled at him fondly and tipped up to kiss him. She wondered if Harlan had been like this in his early days of writing, but then Ransom had been fussy long before he’d started trying to capture his demons on paper just to get them out of his head. 

He’d just been dicking around at first, jotting out theories he had on how Joni killed his uncle or improving on his grandfather’s abandoned book notes. But the ideas stuck, and suddenly he found himself writing out more detailed scenes and pouring every bit of ire or arrogance he had into the people he wrote about. He couldn’t bring himself to show Marta yet, but she was happy enough just watching him work while she was supposed to be reading through new manuscripts or updates sent to her on Blood Like Wine’s filming projects.

When their lips parted, Marta set her forehead to Ransom’s nose, her fingers still touching his jaw until he tilted his head up and pressed his lips to her forehead. He pressed another kiss to her before he asked against her skin, “You gonna help me find places for all this shit?” Marta jerked her head back to look up at him. Her eyes flickered over his expression for a moment before her smile bloomed, one of the bright, delighted ones that still made Ransom’s heart skip to this day.

“So you’re not going to scorn me for moving all of my things into your space like Kristin?” Marta taunted, causing Ransom to snort.

“Most of this stuff is Harlan’s.”

“Which is all mine. Besides, I want to move most of my things out of Mama’s condo. Maybe that’ll encourage her to let me move her elsewhere,” Marta said, before her eyes slanted toward Ransom’s lips. She tapped his jaw thoughtfully before adding, “And who knows how much I’ll want to buy on our travels.” Ransom chuckled heartily.

“Humble little Marta Cabrera now flaunts her riches like any other wealthy schmuck.” Ransom _tsked_ at her and shook his head, but he far preferred this than her being afraid of his space. _Their_ space. He couldn’t say it, but he showed how he felt by wrapping his arms around Marta’s lower back to pull her flush against him. She curled her arms against his chest, fingers folding into his thin shirt. She tilted her head to bat her long lashes at him coyly. 

He couldn’t resist kissing her again, and she hummed appreciatively against his lips because that was exactly what she wanted. Her arms snaked around his neck, and she compressed their chests together as her tongue pried into his mouth, grinding with his in lewd desperation. For a few heated moments, all that existed was their passionate embrace. When they finally broke for air, Ransom heaved for a few breaths and rested his forehead against hers. 

“Say it,” he whispered, his crystal eyes searching her gentle expression, and how the setting sun made her olive skin glow. 

She smiled, and murmured against his lips, “I’m yours,” just so she could feel his breath hitch. He still couldn’t handle ‘I love you’ very well (and neither missed the irony in that), so she’d started saying this instead. She appreciated how ravenous he could be for the simple admission, and felt it when he crushed their lips together, hand pressing against the small of her back to bring their bodies together again. Moaning into the kiss, her fingers massaged into his silky brown locks as their tongues ground together. He lifted her off her feet, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, already canting her hips against his in earnest. He slipped one hand beneath her sheer top to caress the elegant expanse of her back. 

His fingers gripped around the band of her bra, nails scraping against her spine. Her skin prickled to life in turn, her body rolling against his in her restricted position. They both groaned breathlessly, needy and starved as always. Ransom broke the kiss so he could navigate the scattered boxes without sending them sprawling. He sat on his plush cream couch, his free hand slipping beneath Marta’s skirt to cup her plump rear. Squeezing, he pushed her into a roll over his lap while his other hand unclipped the clasp of her bra.

She shuddered into a renewed kiss, her tongue slowing its exploration of his mouth until his cock jolted from the slippery sensation. His hips bucked up to increase the friction between them instinctively, and he broke their kiss so he could watch her lusty expression while his hand smoothed over her ribs and pushed beneath her loosened bra. Marta panted, body gyrating absently as his hot palm kneaded into her voluptuous breast. Eyes black with desire, Marta rolled her hips sharply into his groin, the pressure finally making him painfully hard in his jeans. 

Part of him wanted to rip her clothes off and pound her into the floor, but he had reason to take his time. Nothing like washing away a first impression with pleasure, and all he wanted her to think about when she walked through this home was how many times he made her orgasm her first night sleeping here. 

He pushed her shirt up to her shoulders and wrapped his lips around one budded nipple. His hand squeezed her other breast while he laved her flesh with his tongue. Her breathing grew uneven as he worshipped her, his other hand sliding up her thigh until he could massage one perfect globe of her ass. Skimming his thumb beneath the hem of her panties, he circled the crest of her thigh to tease a far more sensitive area to life. A mewl finally escaped her as her skin started to tingle, her hips writhing encouragingly beneath his hand. 

He removed his hand only so he could switch his tactics at her chest, his mouth enveloping her neglected nipple while he groped her opposite breast and circled his thumb into her spit-slicked flesh. “Ransom,” she whispered with reverence and desperation. The teasing touches were _far_ from enough when her cunt started aching to be filled. He ignored her, shushing her by massaging her ribs soothingly while simultaneously encouraging her to yelp once he rolled his tongue against the peak of her nipple. He briefly suckled the sensitized nub between his teeth before he finally released her and dragged her into a filthy kiss. 

Their tongues swirled for a moment before he pulled back and tugged her shirt over her head. He tossed it down the couch while she let her bra slip off her arms and threw it toward the same vicinity he had her shirt. Their eyes met for a moment, both lust-blown and awed, before their lips crushed together again. Ransom wrapped an arm around her back, and slowly twisted them over so he could lay her beneath him. When his weight compressed her petite figure, she groaned into their kiss. Her fingers massaged into his shoulders affectionately until he pushed up to remove his own shirt. 

Instead of rejoining her, he slipped off the couch to kneel beside her, and helped her twist until she nearly sat properly on the couch. He wrapped both hands around the hem of her bottoms, and she canted her hips up to help him pull the rest of her clothes off. His hands returned to her hips then, and he tugged her toward the edge of the couch, her legs spread around him and shoulders pushing into the back cushions. He bowed forward, but before he could get very far, her thighs clamped around his head so he couldn’t move. 

“Say it,” she demanded. Ransom glared at her with one eye, since his other was pressed shut beneath her clenched thigh. Instead of answering, he slid his hands between her inner thighs and curled his fingers until his blunt nails dug into her skin as he pushed her legs open. Marta cried out, but not in pain. The sharp bolt of pleasure the sting of his nails gave to her sensitive flesh was a shock to them both, and he fucking _loved_ it. How after this long, he still found new ways to rile her up.

Her cunt quivered before his eyes from excitement and anticipation. Ransom watched her slit bedew, and groaned out a breathy, “I’m yours.” Smoothing his fingers out along her inner thighs, he dipped his lips to her and kissed the crest of her folds. He traced her velvety flesh with his lips before slipping his tongue within her slit. The wet slide of his tongue after the ghostly, tingling touch had her gasping. Only the press of his hands kept her from violently bucking into his face, and he had a bit of an evil glint in his gaze as he licked into her at a slow pace.

He watched her chest start heaving from the teasing, her head lulling against the cushions as she tried to contain herself. Without warning, he curled his fingers and dug his nails back into her inner thighs while his tongue swiped along her clit. She cried out, back arching at the unexpected rush of pain and pleasure. The way her legs trembled beneath his hands had him chuckling. He eased the pressure away, releasing one thigh completely so he could part her folds with his thumb and pointer finger. For a second, he admired the way her wetting slit opened for him, and how perked her clit was, begging for attention.

Then, he went to work in earnest.

There was something to say for long-term fucking. By now, Ransom knew how to make her scream without fail. It took little time for him to have her a whimpering, writhing mess, her cunt gushing around the plunge of his fingers as he licked and suckled lewdly at her clit. She convulsed around his fingers and squeezed her thighs against his shoulders - and he kept her going, dragging her pleasure out until she couldn’t see straight and gasped for breath.

He let her legs sag toward the ground long enough to get out of his pants, and then he wrapped her legs around his waist. One hand braced at the small of her back, he eased her hips up and used his other hand to guide his cock to her entrance. He sunk into her with ease, which amazed Marta on some level. To this day, she reveled at how full he made her feel. They both groaned as her seeping walls clenched around his thick cock, and he bowed to his elbows over her in an attempt to ground himself.

While they adjusted to the intensity of their union, Marta’s eyes flickered toward his left collarbone, and the circular scar that lay beneath. She reached up and caressed her fingers along the length of his clavicle, before her thumb swiped out to brush along the bullet scar. She’d noticed in the first few days they’d been back in the mansion all those months ago that Ransom had eerily been shot in the same shoulder Harlan had injured and received his pain medications for. It felt strangely surreal then (especially considering she became caretaker of another bratty Thrombey at the same time), and it seemed awing now. She couldn’t even explain why. She just let the emotions sweep over her as she reached up and pressed a kiss to the imperfection. 

Before he could choke on the unexpected affection, Ransom’s fingers twisted in her hair. He pulled her head back so he could claim her lips in a lush kiss. Moan muffled into the lip lock, Marta wrapped her arms around his neck to cling to him as he languidly bucked his hips. His cock slid through her in powerful, but slow thrusts, and Ransom held her exactly where he wanted off the edge of the couch to ensure he hit her deeply and had her nerves singing in bliss. 

The pressure of his cock each time he bucked into her sent pleasure flaring through her. Despite how her breath started to labor with the mounting heat, she couldn’t stop devouring Ransom’s kisses, their tongues dancing as lewdly as their bodies. She never wanted it to end, and she felt as though her heart became swept up in the same fire her body was, desire and ardor filling her up to the brim. And she wasn’t the only thing Ransom was drowning in. As he massaged her sexy curves, drilled in and out of her perfect body, and let his lips taste her silky skin, he felt more than pleasure swelling within him.

It was too much. 

He pulled back, wrenched up from his knees and grabbed Marta’s arm to drag her along with him. It was only as they started walking across the living room that Marta remembered the wall-length windows. The next second, she found herself pushed up against one, hands splayed above her head to keep from being completely plastered against the glass. 

“Ransom,” she gasped, eyes bulging as he shoved his cock back inside her. Her cunt clenched anxiously against the intrusion and exposure she suddenly found herself in. When Ransom moved, shoving into her brutally, she squealed desperately from the intensified pressure. A breathless chuckle left him as he picked up a faster pace than they’d had on the couch, frenzied and pointed.

“You like it, don’t you, you little freak?” he growled breathily, teeth clenched as his hips slapped against her ass. “The idea that someone might see us – anyone _could_ – if they just came up the driveway. You’re getting off on it, aren’t you, Beautiful?” She still couldn’t outright lie, and didn’t want to puke on the glass. So she remained silent, let Ransom taunt her for it and build them both up with his obscene mind, until he reached between her legs and put pressure on her clit. She screamed, howled loud enough for the whole world to hear as she came where she stood, dragging a filthy groan out of Ransom.

This was one of two reasons he loved his windowed home so much. The glass walls felt like a spotlight to him, like the whole world watched him. The narcissist in him enjoyed that, and feeling Marta spasm around his shaft so intensely made it so much better. Invigorated, he snapped his hips into her harder, chasing his orgasm with each deep plunge into her belly. Marta cried out, fingers curling against the glass as she unwittingly canted her hips back. The new angle had pleasure pulsing through them both each time Ransom hit home, and he cussed at the unexpected way it made his spine start to tingle. 

The second reason he loved his home also fed his narcissism with the way the glass reflected like a mirror when given a certain amount of light, allowing him to watch _himself_ , too. As the setting sun grew low enough, the vibrant orange light painted their picture across the glass. Marta, a bronze goddess with her lips parted in ecstasy, dark hair curling about her shoulders and tits bouncing in all their glory, and Ransom, her pale shadow with vivid blue eyes and the bulk to frame her. 

... Except this time, all he saw was her.

He usually watched himself, watched his cock plow through someone’s cunt or his own arrogant face, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from how Marta’s open mouth fogged up the glass, how blissed out she looked even with her eyes closed. He reached up with one hand, slot his fingers through the gaps in her own curled knuckles until she flexed her fingers to finish entwining them. His other hand set to her navel, keeping her rooted against him as he panted against her cheek, taking just a brief moment to admire them both in the reflection. 

He pressed his lips against her jaw then, and lower to feel her wild pulse. Mouthing at it tenderly, he bowed his head to her shoulder. Breathing ragged, Marta gasped his name before he suckled her flesh between his teeth and listened to her sing through another orgasm. Her pleasure swept through him, consumed him. His breath hitched and he plunged into her as deeply as he could while he came. But it wasn’t the only sensation to sweep through him.

He’d tried to escape it, brought them from the couch and pushed them toward raunchy debauchery to forget it. Head bowed to her shoulder, his breath rattled out in heaving pants as he tried to make sense of the world in that jarring moment. His fingers bit into Marta’s hip, but it didn’t do anything to lessen the weight suddenly combusting and constricting his chest at the same time. His throat closed to choke it down, but it bubbled up anyway. 

“I love you,” he grumbled miserably, sounding more like a beaten puppy than a man in love. It was humiliating. His cheeks suddenly felt like they were burning off, and he wanted to take after his withering dick and shrivel away and melt into the floor. He couldn’t lift his eyes, and his lip trembled as a wave of fear swept through him. He’d never said that before, and for good reason. The people he knew used love as a weapon to tear inside a person and twist them up. It was the sickest kind of power, and he’d just handed it over to Marta to rip through him if she wanted. 

He’d told her once he was going to cut her open and steal her heart, but now he realized he was the one split wide and raw, _vulnerable_ \- and he _ached_ from it. 

Instead of feasting on his exposed soul like he anticipated, she smoothed her fingers up through his hair soothingly, making his scalp tingle and shoulders slump a bit. Her fingers curled after a moment, and she used a thick clump of his longer locks to tug his head up. His eyes blazed as she looked into them, the bright blue shining so intensely she merely stared for a moment. 

A small smile spread across her lips, before she pulled him into a fervent kiss. She tilted her head to deepen the pressure, let her tongue slide against his in a sensual grind that had them both briefly throbbing for a second round. When the kiss broke and their heady breath’s mingled, Marta’s dark eyes twinkled at him. Her bruised lips pulled into a stunning smile, and she told him rather pointedly, “I love you, too, My Beast.”

_**FIN** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow... I am a little emotional, not gonna lie lmao. I can't believe what this story turned into. I really didn't expect for it to become this long or big when I started out, but I'm so glad I let it take me away. THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH for reading and being a part of this journey with me <3


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